

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

: ©I^[i..3-d^ijpjjri5i^ !fo. 

i Tj? T'Z.'i 

Shelf -.-^.5-.^ 5 O 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 











> , 


^ « 


F.v;< 


4 




■A 






■ f' ' % 




m 




‘k- 


i.‘* •> 




j-/.. 


4’ 


V* 




> 


•* '■’ 








* r* 


TTTTv 


/ • »• 


* 


A^J 


M r 




• I 


ry> 






•,,s 


« . ^ 


., .i j',- . • - ^ ' 










I « 


%\‘i- *■' 


» »* 


S A* 


■I 


T. 


\i 


‘i. 




I V 


«l* 


•y 


V»=] 


► -• 


•V » 


i,' .V' I ■ 


, * . 


• t 

- r * 




'-'.r' 


• * ' 


> r 


I . • • 


■ I 


■ I 


, 


■ r«< 


!.W;a 




» 




• 


V • 




'h 




r 


» - I % V I 




.V . 


,f 


► ^ L' 


V 




' V. i v» •■ 

ivA ' * - 

« 


V 


l',<' 




J • • 


>,r 


!4i! 


K, y S»'« ♦ 

. rS ^ ‘ 


t . 




fi 


N 


• « 


'5^ 





• • X .4 


f'. 


'i >“3 


I 


A 4 ..‘.“y^ 


_ ■ ■ #• * ' *► . 

■* ' » > ^ * ; ■ 


i ^ 

rt' '• * 

t-.-’-r- ;^yj; 

^ 5'- 


/ 




> ‘ , 'vv\ 


I 

V 


iJi) 


.•J- 




f . ' :n .:' 


.A* 


4 ^ 


« « 


-.•■ > \ ' 

' • •• •; • A. 

'V'a«X 


> . f 


^H.!V^ 4 '^ * • ‘ f _v^ 

• *• :»' « .*rii 






OLD SPECIE. 


By ALEXANDER ROBERTSON, M. D. No. 33. 



Promin^f ^ ’Au t hors, -h 




A delicious substitute for, and avoiding the 
injurious effects of Tea and Coffee. 


VanHouten'sCocoa 

“ BEST & GOES FIRTHEST,” 

is THE ORIGINAL Pure Soluble Cocoa. 

Invented and patented in Holland 
and, ever since its invention, has re- 
mained uneqiiciled in solubility, agree- 
able taste and nutritive qualities. 

Easily Digested. Made Instantly. 

Invaluable in FAMILIES, SCHOOLS, HOSPITALS, and KAIL WAY 
STATIONS, in the CAMP, on SHIPS, for WORKMEN (at home 
and to take to their work), and in all ploCBS where a FBfKSShing 

and nourishing beverage is required at a moment’s notice. 
The English high-class paper “Health” says ; 

“ Its purity is beyond question, 
ONCE TRIED, ALWAYS USED.” 

C. .T. TAN HOIITEN & ZOON, Weesp-HoUaiid. 

SOLD BY ALL GROCERS OF THE UNITED STATES. 


ASK F3R VAN HOUTEN’S, AND TAKE NO OTHER. 


MADAME ROWLEY’^ 

TOILET MASK OR FACE GLOVE 



The Toilet in position to the face 

To be loom three times in the week. 


is the only natural heau- 
tifier for bleaching and 
preserving the skin and 
removing complexional 
imperfections. 

It is soft and pliable, 
and can be easily applied 
and loom without dis- 
comfort or inconvenience. 

The Mask is patented, 
has been introduced ten 
years, and is the only 
genuine article of the 
kind. 

It is recommended by 
eminent physicians and 
scientific men as a sub- 
stitute for injurious cos- 
metics. 


A few Specimen Extracts from Testimonial Eetters. 


“I arn so rejoiced at havinof found at 
last an article that will indeed improve 
the complexion.” 


“I find that it removes freckles, tan, 
sunburn, and gives the complexion a 
soft, smooth surface.” 


“ Every lady who desires a faultless 
complexion should be provided with 
the Mask.” 


“ I must tell you how delighted I am 
with your Toilet Mask; it gives un- 
bounded satisfaction.” 


“My face is as soft and smooth as an 
Infant’s.” 


“I am perfectly delighted wdth it.” 


“As a medium for removing discol- 
orations, softening and beautifying the 
skin, 1 consider it unequaled.” 


“The Mask certainly acts upon the 
skin with a mild and beneficial result, 
making It smoother and clearer, and 
seeming to remove pimples. Irritations, 
etc., with each application.” 

“ It does even more than Is claimed 
for it.” 


COMPLEXIO^f BLEMISHES may be hidden imperfectly by 
cosmetics and powders, but can only be removed permanently by the 
Toilet Mask. By its use eveiy kind of spots, impurities, roughness, 
etc., vanish from the skin, leaving it soft, clear, brilliant, and i)eauti- 
ful. It is harmless, costs little, and saves hundreds of dollars use- 
lessly expended for cosmetics, powders, lotions, etc. It prevents and 
removes WKIXKLES, and is both a complexion preserver and beau- 
tifier. Famous society ladies, actresses, belles, etc., use it. 

Valuable illustrated pamphlet, with j)roofs and full particulars^ 
mailed free by 


THE TOILET MASK GO., 1167 Broadway, New York. 



“YOU GOT HOLD OF THE WRONG MAN THAT TIME,” SAID OLD 
SPECIE. “IF YOU DON’T SKIP, I’LL LAND YOU IN THE 
TOMBS r’-(P. 18.) 


The Secret Service series— no. 33. 

Issued ]Montlily. 

DEVOTED TO STORIES OF THE DETECTION OF CRIME. 

SuBSCRirxiox Price, $3 Per Ye.vr. JULY, 1890. 

Copyrighted, 1890, hy Street £ Smith. 

Entered at the Fosl-Ojjfice, Neio York, as Second-Class Matter. 

OLD SPECIE, 

THE TEEASUKY DETECTIVE; 

OK, 

The Harbor Lights of New York. 


A, Startling StoTij of JVight Life in the 
Great Metropolis. 


BY 

ALEXANDER ROBERTSON, M. D., 


AUTHOR OF 

“The Irish IMonte Cristo’s Search,” “The Irish 
Monte Cristo A.broad,” etc. 


NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose .Street. 




Painless. 

— 


Act 

like 

Magic 

on 

the Vital 
Organs. 



Effectual. 


One 

Dose 

Relieves 

in 

Twenty- 

Minutes. 



Worth a'Cuinea a Box. 

FOE All BttlOIslSoHioES EISOEEEES, 

SUCH AS 

Sick Headache, 

Weak Stomach, 
Impaired Digestion, 

Constipation, 
Disordered Liver, &c.. 

Arousing with the Rosebiid of Health the whole Physical 
Energy of the human frame. 

Beecliaiii’s Pills, taken as directed, will quickly RESTORE 
EEMALES to complete health. 

SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. PRICE 25 CENTS PER BOX. 

Prepared only by THOS. BEECHAM, St. Helens, 
Lancashire, England. 

I B. F. ALLEN «fc CO., Sole Af^entM for United States, 365 «fc 367 Canal 
Street, New York, 

who (if your druggist does not keep them) will mail Beecham’s Pills on receipt of 
price — ingidre first. Please mention this Publication. 


OLD SPECIE 


CHAPTEK I. 

BUSINESS FOR OLD SPECIE. 

Mr. Gillam in?’’ 

The treasury clerk in the United States Sub- 
Treasury, New York, looked at the speaker with a 
smile. 

He saw one who appeared to be a relative of Josh 
Whitcomb — a regular Down East countryman, with 
hayseed in his hair, and a genial smile upon his 
ruddy face. 

‘‘He is in, but engaged.” 

“I want to see him.” 

“Impossible, at present.” 

‘■‘Will ye take him my card?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose so.” 

The old fellow took out a card and handed it to 
the clerk, who, as he turned away, glanced at the 
bit of pasteboard he held. 

There was a name on it : 

ANTHONY SWANZY. 

In a corner were three letters — X, Y, Z. 

Their meaning was mysterious, 


6 


OLD SPECIE. 


A minute later the treasury clerk came out again, 
astonishment written on his face. 

“Mr. Gillam will see you, sir; follow me.” 

His respect for this uncouth-looking pilgrim had 
evidentl}^ received an impetus from the eager man- 
ner in which the great man within, after glancing 
at the card, had said : 

“Show him in at once, Mr. Freeland.” 

When the door was closed again the government 
official turned from his writing, and held out his 
hand. 

“I am glad to see you again. Old Specie. We have 
need of you down here.” 

“So I understood, Mr. Gillam.” 

“Draw up a chair. We will not be disturbed.” 

The role of a farmer was no new one to the cele- 
brated government detective, who could play the 
part to perfection. 

A casual glance would reveal to the observer a 
face rubicund and good-natured, but should one 
stop to analyze the features he would discover the 
peculiar traits that, united, made this man such a 
terror to evil doers who attempted fraud upon that 
gfigantic corporation, the United States Govern- 
ment. 

“You come from Washington?” 

“As fast as the Congressional express on the Penn- 
sylvania could draw me.” 

“How are your duties there?” 

“Lax at present.” 

“I am glad of that, for I believe we have a job 
here that will take all of your time.” 

Mr. Gillam unlocked a drawer, and took out a 
government bill. 

It was a twenty dollar gold certificate. 


OLD SPECIE. 


7 


‘‘I believe you have been called an expert at de- 
tecting counterfeits, Mr. — ah — Swanzy.’’ 

“My experience and long study have given me 
some knowledge in that line.” 

“You are modest, but I have heard that from no 
less authority than the Secretary of the Treasury. 
Take a look at that bill, please.” 

The government detective did so. 

He examined it minutely for five minutes. 

Then he laid it down. 

“Well?” 

“A counterfeit.” 

“Ah ! four expert bank tellers have pronounced it 
genuine within twenty-four hours.” 

“They were mistaken,” quietly. 

“What do you think of it?” 

“The most remarkable piece of work I ever saw.” 

“So they said when I told them it was bogus.” 

“The plates ” 

“Have not been stolen.” 

“Then only one man could have done that work — 
August Delmar, known also as Colonel Blood.” 

“Yet you detected the cheat — how?” 

“I will show you. I have ten ways of telling an 
ordinary counterfeit of this nature. This bill passed 
through nine of them, but caught on the tenth. 
Have you a genuine handy?” 

“Here is one.” 

“I see. You clipped the corner of the bogus.” 

“I was really afraid of getting them mixed.” 

Thereupon the government detective proceeded to 
explain the trifling defect that had proven the bill 
a bad one. 

“I never before knew a counterfeit to pass more 
than five of these points. In some the whole ten 


8 


OLD SPECIE. 


are lacking. That shows what a remarkable piece 
of work this is.’ ^ 

The detective looked at the paper with what 
might almost be termed satisfaction. 

He anticipated a great chase, in order to run down 
the clever rascals who were putting such a wonder- 
ful paper upon the public. 

It must be stopped, and at once. 

No matter what the expense. 

The treasury officials were alarmed at the danger 
menacing them, for a panic would seize upon the 
public were it known that there was in circulation 
a treasury note that could not be told from the 
original. 

Old Specie had handled many of these cases, to 
the satisfaction of his employers. 

He was ready to admit candidly that never in the 
past had his services been more desperately needed 
than just now. 

‘'How long have you had this, sir?” 

“Since yesterday.” 

“Received from a bank?” 

“Yes, one down near the East River. It was 
handed in by a well-known firm, and chanced to 
fall under the eye of an expert, who brought it to 
me at once. I submitted it to others, and then tele- 
graphed for you. I slept very little last night.” 

“There is no telling how many of these are in cir- 
culation.” 

“Every bank teller has been warned, but the gen- 
eral public must be deceived.” 

“Give me the name of the firm.” 

“It is on that bit of paper, which was pinned 
around their deposit.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


9 


“Was this the only gold certificate in the ac- 
count?” 

“The only one.” 

“It will be easier to trace, then. Are there any 
points you want me to know, sir?” 

“At present I have none. It is all a perfect blank. 
I can hardly believe the bill is counterfeit, which 
makes it the more dangerous. Spare no means to 
hunt the authors of it down as speedily as possible.” 

“I will see you again, Mr. Gillam. You will let me 
have this bill?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Good-day, sir.” 

The strange man went out of the treasury build- 
ing, with this meager information, dependent upon 
his own wits in order to build up a theory, and trace 
the cunning counterfeiters to their secret lair. 

Within the half hour he entered a store down 
near the East River. 

Passing back to the office he entered it. 

A gentlemanly looking fellow was perched upon 
a high stool, working at the books. 

He looked up. 

“Is your name Merwin?” 

“Yes, what can I do for you?” 

“You make up the deposit for bank?” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

“That was your amount yesterday?” showing him 
the slip of paper. 

“Yes, but what in the duse ” 

“Mr. Merwin, I am a government detective. In 
the amount you deposited was this twenty dollar 
gold certificate. It is a cleverly executed counter- 
feit note, sir.” 

^'Good HeavenB 1 I— you suspect — 


10 


OLD SPECIE. 


^‘ISTot at all, sir. You are above suspicion, but you 
can help me get upon the track of the rascals who 
manufactured that note.’' 

‘‘Tell me how?” 

“Calm yourself. I want you to think. Who gave 
you that bill in change?” 

The cashier pondered. 

“I know for a certainty. It was given to me in 
payment of a cash sale — let me see, here in the petty 
cash — for one dollar, seventy.” 

“Who made the purchase?” 

“A stranger.” 

“Do you generally take such large bills from 
strangers without close scrutiny?” 

“I applied the usual test, and it was all right.” 

“Can you describe the man?” 

“He was tall, wore a gray mustache, and had 
what I would call red eyes.” 

“A strange color.” 

“The pupils were blue, but the white of the eyes 
seemed to be inflamed from cold. ” 

“I have seen persons chronically affected in that 
way. A very good clew. Was there anything else 
singular about this stranger?” 

“He talked in a rasping voice, as though hoarse 
with a cold.” 

“Good. What did his purchase consist of?” 

“A few articles. I believe there was a small coil 
of rope among them. He impressed me as a sailor. 
I don’t know why, but I am sure that was the idea 
I had.” 

“Well, Mr. Merwin, I am obliged to you. Kindly 
say nothing of this to any one, not even your em- 
ployer.” 

'It shall be as you wish, sir.’^ 


OLD SPECIE. 


11 


“Good-day.” 

“By the way, after the man went away I found 
he had left his cane on my desk — a peculiar one, 
too. I expected he would return for it, but he hasn’t 
come yet.” 

“Let me see the cane.” 

It was a peculiar one, and no doubt might be 
highly valued as a memento of some event in the 
past. 

“I think myself he’ll either come for that cane or 
else send for it. Be sure that you take no notice of 
him if he does.” 

“I will remember, sir.” 

“Meanwhile I will have some one on hand here to 
follow him.” 

A change came over the cashier’s face. 

“You’ll have to be quick about it, then.” 

“Why so?” 

“Because the man with the red eyes is coming 
through the store now — I saw him enter.” 

“That is enough. Remember, don’t even look at 
him twice. I’m off.” 

As the detective passed out of the office he came 
face to face with a man about to enter. 

He glanced at him as though casually. 

Every feature of the other’s face was indelibly 
stamped upon his mind. 

The cashier had described him truly. 

While in the body of the store, which was dimly 
lighted. Old Specie made a few quick changes in his 
appearance, for which he was always prepared. 

As he emerged from the building one would not 
dream it was the same man. 

He waited five minutes. Strange that the man 
did not come. 


12 


OLD SPECIE. 


Ten had now passed. 

Looking in, he saw the cashier alone in his office 
at the rear, the gas being lighted there. 

Suspecting something wrong, the detective imme- 
diately presented himself before Merwin. 

‘‘Did he go out?” 

‘T don’t understand, sir?” 

“Ah, Mr. Merwin, you fail to recognize me.” 

“Confusion! are you the detective?” 

“Yes, but what became of the man with the red 
eyes?” 

“He went out.” 

“Certainly he did not pass me. I watched the 
door.” 

“The duse you say, sir. He asked me about the 
stick, and I muttered something about it being in 
the corner. Thanking me, he withdrew.” 

“Mr. Merwin, is there any other way out of this 
building than the front door?” 

“Yes, sir. Do you see that small door yonder?” 

“I do.” 

“It leads to the side street.” 

“That’s how I lost him; it shows the fellow is 
constantly on his guard.” 

The detective left the store and sauntered along 
South street, where a tide of humanity flowed. 

He had been beaten in the first round, but was all 
the more determined to succeed in the end. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE WRONG MAN. 

Small things like this did not give him any uneasi- 
ness. 


OLD SPECIE. 


He always looked for disappointments, and many 
of them, while undertaking a case of this nature, 
and the success which came in the end was always 
the sweeter because of the trouble he had been re- 
quired to pass through. 

When he left the store on South street and saun- 
tered along, his mind was full of the game. 

He had not recognized the man with the red eyes, 
but his sharp glance had discovered at least one 
give-away point about him. 

From his rolling gait he was undoubtedly a sailor, 
or had been in the past. 

Hence it stood to reason that he would be found 
in some qaurters where the dark-faced sons of the 
salt water congregated. 

These places were well known to him. 

Old Specie was acquanited in New York. 

He had been born here, and nearly forty years ago 
used to run with the machine, being a member of 
the volunteer fire department. 

Much of his business had been done in the great 
American metropolis. 

He had unearthed more than one tremendous 
scheme here, whereby a band of unscrupulous men 
hoped to defraud the government in some cunning 
way. 

Now that it was necessary for him to visit some of 
these salior dens, he had not the least hesitation 
about doing it. 

Night was the time for that. 

Then the places would be filled with a lively, rol- 
licking company, some good-natured, others vicious. 

His countrified appearance made him an object of 
interest for bunco meno 


14 


OLD SPECIE. 


Twice he was overhauled by some one and famil- 
iarly greeted. 

On each occasion he whispered something in the 
ear of the man that caused him to give one look of 
horror at the countryman and then vanish in the 
crowd. 

A third fellow tried the game. 

They seemed as thick as sand flies on this fine 
afternoon. 

Old Specie was getting tired, and concluded to 
take this fellow in out of the cold, just for the sake 
of variety. 

Acting under this impulse he fell headlong into 
the bunco man’s trap. 

Presently the first fellow’s comrade came up, in- 
troduced himself as the son of the banker in the 
town Old Specie had announced as his place of 
residence. 

In ten minutes they were walking along in ani- 
mated discussion. 

The old veteran played his cards well. 

He pretended to make out that he was a wonder- 
fully sharp individual, and spoke of a friend of his 
who had been swindled when paying a visit to the 
metropolis. 

“Them fellers would have to cut their eye-teeth 
before they got ahead of me,” he boasted, and his 
new found friend declared it was his private opin- 
ion no set of sharpers lived who could get ahead of 
the other. 

The pretended farmer spoke of the green-goods 
swindle, and declared he was just spoiling to have a 
go at the rascals— that he had a wad of five hundred 
dollars hidden on his person, and he meant before 
he left town to try and hunt up some of that ilk. 


OLD SPECIE. 


16 


“Like as not they skipped the place when they 
heerd I was coming,” he said. 

His companion could hardly keep the grin off his 
face. 

He thought he had never met with a softer snap 
in all his born days. 

The mention of that nice little wad of greenbacks 
made his eyes fairly snap. 

It would not burden the pocket of the old farmer 
if he could help it. 

Being compassionate, it went against his nature 
to see an old man like this staggering around under 
such a load, and he would try his best to relieve him 
of it. 

“Look here. Squire Gray, a friend of mine got bit 
on that game some time ago, and I know where the 
swindlers hold out.” 

“Do tell.” 

“I declared that some day I’d beat ’em at their 
own game, if I could only find a soul daring enough 
to back me up.” 

“That’s me, Charles.” 

“Will you do it?” 

“Yes.” 

“When?” 

“Right away. This wad is gettin’ lonesome in my 
pocket— makes me walk one sided, an’ I need 
another to even me up.” 

“Squire, it’s a go. Come along, and on the way 
we’ll arrange our plan of campaign.” 

“We’ll smite the enemy hip and thigh, and re- 
venge poor Sam Jacks.” 

So they sauntered on. 

Old Specie seemed to be guileless. 


16 


OLD SPECIE. 


He pretended not to notice the many signals 
which the glib-tongued man who had him in tow 
made to a fellow across the street, and which ex- 
plained the game. 

After quite a stroll Charles said : 

“Here we are, squire.” 

“Air this the house?” dubiously eying a grim 
looking building that seemed to be deserted, as the 
shutters were nearly all closed. 

“Yes, this is where they hold out. Now, squire, 
if you feel any way timid about ” 

“Timid? Man alive, I’m the captain of the Squash- 
town militia. I’m all nerve, I am. Feel my arm, 
and then ask if I’m timid.” 

His arm was trembling. Charles could see that 
the other was greatly excited. 

“You know there’s only two of them, and we 
number that many. We’ll get ’em. You remember 
the plan we arranged, squire?” 

“Don’t I, though? I’ll show ’em somethin’! They 
ain’t got no Sam Jacks to deal with this time.” 

“That they haven’t.” 

“I’m ready to go in, Charles.” 

“One word first, squire. These men, you under- 
stand, are desperate fellows. We may have trouble 
yet. Are you armed?” 

“Well, rather.” 

“You know the arrangement we made was for me 
to suddenly appear on the scene when you gave the 
signal, and cover the fellows.” 

“That’s so.” 

“Now, I have no pistol— let me have yours.” 

The squire took an old-fashioned flint lock affair 
out of his pocket. 

“B© keerful of it, Charles, That’s the identical 


OLD SPECIE. 


17 


weapon Aaron Burr used in his duel with Hamil- 
ton. Been in our family since. It’s a dead shot 
when properly loaded.’’ 

“Good! It’ll do to scare these sharks with, I 
reckon. How, go in, squire. Tell ’em you got one of 
their circulars, and have come on to buy some of 
the green-goods.” 

The detective found the door open to his touch. 

He entered a hall. 

On a door at the end was a paper placard. 

It had the word “Office” painted on it. 

Walking up to this door he knocked. 

“Come in.” 

He opened it a little and peeped in cautiously. 

Only one man was there. 

He seemed to be busily engaged counting bank 
bills, several little piles being before him. 

Old Specie entered. The usual fencing was gone 
through with, the man appearing cautious. 

In spite of his disguise the detective recognized 
in him the same brisk young fellow who had ac- 
costed him first. 

Finally, all preliminaries having been arranged, 
fifteen hundred dollars were counted out in genuine 
money, but called counterfeit by the sharper. 

This was placed in a little black satchel and 
handed to Old Specie, who paid for it. 

Then the same old game was tried, getting him to 
lay the satchel on a desk for a few minutes while he 
examined some fine work. 

Had he done so the satchel would have been 
changed for another just like it, but containipg 
brown paper packo-ges, 

Old Specie hung qn to the bag grimly, 


18 


OLD SPECIE. 


The man turned on him with an oath, and fiercely 
demanded the hag. 

This was the time for the signal. 

Sure enough, when the supposed farmer gave it, 
his confederate appeared in the room. 

“Cover him, Charles; I’ve got the plunder.” 

Charles did cover, but instead of the bunco man it 
was the farmer he leveled the pistol at. 

“Drop that satchel, you old fool. Don’t you see 
you’re in a trap. Drop it and skip out, or we’ll beat 
the life out of you,” said Charles. 

“Young man, I said that pistol was a terror when 
properly loaded. That don’t happen to be the case 
now. ^ Here’s one that ain’t been in the family so 
long, but it means business.” 

With that he leveled a revolver at them. 

“Now it’s my turn to say skip, you rascals. You 
got hold of the wrong man that time. I’ll give you 
ten seconds to clear the room. If you’re heie then, 
I’ll land you in the Tombs.” 

“Jupiter! a detective!” 

“Sold, by thunder!” 

The two green-goods men took, in the situation, 
and halted not upon the order of their going. 

They clattered out of the building like wildfire, 
leaving the detective master of the situation and in 
possession of the spoils. 

He could afford to laugh. 

This had been the best day’s work that had come 
in his way for some time. 

Besides, he had learned something connected with 
the case he pursued. 

Small things count in a game like this, and the de- 
tective was not averse to picking up a clew 
wherever he found it. 


OLD SPECIE. 


19 


The amusement and profit the adventure had 
afforded him did not make the sum total. 

Lying on the desk with other money, he had 
found one of the gold certificate notes. 

Written upon one corner of it was a number. 

He believed it was an address. 

The first thing he did when he left the building of 
the green-goods men was to walk along South street 
until he came to that number. 

The adjoining house was used as a sailor’s board- 
ing-house, and when Old Specie saw that the build- 
ing to which the address had taken him was a som- 
ber-looking affair, ancient in its build, and appa- 
rently in want of a tenant, he made up his mind it 
would bear investigation. 

Having made a point he went away. 

At nine that night he again walked along South 
street, gay with lights and boisterous with the voices 
of the gathered clans. 

Here and there the bowsprit of some huge ship 
hung over the street, as the vessel lay snugly in her 
dock. 

Everything was nautical. 

The very air had a salty odor, and sailors were 
seen in every direction, many of them being for- 
eigners. 

Among such people the sharper gets in his work, 
for Jack ashore proves easy prey. 

Many a dark crime has old South street known in 
the years gone by. 

Over the East Kiver hung the beautiful arch that 
proves a highway for myriads every day, and the 
electric lights on the bridge looked like a span of 
glory from some of the dark slums below. 

Here and there, in the neighborhood of the fer- 


20 


OLD. SPECIU. 


ries, the gloom was dissipated by the glow of the 
lights surrounding their entrances. 

In many places gloom held full sway. 

Men pushed along the narrow pavement, for South 
street has only one side, the river bounding it on the 
other. Women, too, were to be seen, and their 
brazen laughter sounded with the boisterous voices 
of the men, while music from dance-halls caught the 
ear hither and yon. 


CHAPTER III. 

HARBOR LIGHTS OF GOTHAM. 

Of course the detective had changed his condition 
since last appearing on South street. He no longer 
represented the countryman, but rolled along like a 
genuine Jack Tar. 

As seen under the lights in his course, he appeared 
a genuine old sea dog, grizzled and sere. 

More than once he was accosted by men on the 
street, but he gave back as good as they sent, al- 
though managing to avoid a row. 

Presently he brought up at the sailors’ lodging- 
house adjoining the building under suspicion. 

This place he entered. 

The basement was a dance hall, where men were 
coming and going all the time. 

Music came from the place, together with the 
scraping of feet and an occasional wild shout from 
some fellow more than half seas over. 

It was no uncommon scene in the lower part of 
New York. 

In dozens of places along the river fronts the same 
thing takes place each night. 


OLD SPECIE. 


Jack thinks he must have his holiday when he 
reaches port, and he has no trouble in finding plenty 
who are willing to help him spend his wages in a 
hurry. 

Into this bacchanalian scene Old Specie made his 
way. 

There were so many present that he was not no- 
ticed. 

By degrees he examined those present, looking for 
the man with the red eyes. 

Had he found him at once he would have believed 
himself lucky. 

Not seeing the fellow, he did not feel very keenly 
disappointed, nor did he have the least idea of giv- 
ing up the clew. 

After awhile he noticed two men slip through a 
door near the bar. 

In his eyes this meant something. 

Watching his chance he followed suit, at a time 
when the bartender’s back was turned. 

He found himself in a small hall-way. 

At the end was a flight of narrow stairs 

They led upward. 

Without the least hesitation he ascended. 

A dim light burned below, but in the hall above 
all was darkness. 

Running against another flight of stairs, the de- 
tective once more climbed aloft. 

Here he had his reward. 

Under a door he saw a rav of light. 

Something was going on behind that door that the 
law did not approve of. 

He bent his head. 

Voices could be heard and tobacco smoke detected, 


22 


OLD SPECIE. 


then one voice arose above the others — it was that of 
a dealer. 

“Faro!’’ muttered the detective, contemptuously. 

He was after bigger game than that, and at first 
had his suspicions aroused, but he did not believe 
his man was here. 

Just at this minute a gong bell in the room beyond 
sounded its brazen note. 

This was an alarm. 

It meant the police were coming up the stairs to 
make a raid on the gambling den. 

Immediately confusion reigned. 

The door was thrown open. 

Out rushed a dozen men, gamblers and players. 

They seemed to be posted as to the means at hand 
for effecting an escape during such an emergency 
as this. 

Most of them climbed a ladder, and went out of a 
scuttle, thus reaching the roof, from whence there 
were means of gaining the ground. 

Three men kept together and chose a different 
route for their escape. 

Old Specie saw that they were the owners of the 
game, and he followed them into a small room at the 
end of the hall. 

Here one of them, striking a match, held it while 
his comrades opened a door in the back of a closet, 
which allowed them to slip into the adjoining build- 
ing. 

The police meanwhile had rushed up the stairs, 
and were chasing the fugitive players over the roofs 
of the neighboring houses, with a poor chance of 
overhauling them. 

Old Specie had closed the door of the room. 

Entering the closet he too struck a match, and ex- 


OLD SPECIE. 


23 


amined the strange means of communication be- 
tween the houses. 

Unless one’s suspicions were especially directed to 
that point, he would never dream of the existence 
of a door. 

It looked innocent enough. 

Finding a rough knot-hole, which he believed was 
the key to the situation, the detective worked at it 
for a minute, and then the door opened. 

He passed through. 

Now that he was in the building that he had de- 
sired to visit, he did not take as much stock in the 
enterprise. 

If this house was used by gamblers as a means of 
escape from their own quarters it did not seem 
likely that the shrewd men he sought would have 
their den here. 

Still; while in it he might as well make a thorough 
examination. 

He did so. 

Striking matches he passed from the attic down to 
the first fioor. 

Nothing was discovered. 

Here a door led into some sort of cellar, but it was 
nailed fast. 

Nothing remained but to leave the house in the 
same way the gamblers had. 

This was through a rear window. 

In twenty minutes he was again in the place next 
door, looking for his man. 

Once let him get a footing, and from that time on 
he depended no more on the freaks of fortune. 

It was like climbing up a ladder. 

The clock showed twenty-five minutes to twelve 
when Old Specie caught his man. 


24 


OLD SPECIE. 


He had taken a good look at the party who en- 
tered the store, so that he might know him again 
when the time came. 

This worthy was now before him — the single 
thread in the line that must lead him to the solu- 
tion of the mystery. 

He would not lightly lose sight of him. 

In two minutes he had learned that the man with 
the flaming eyes was called Ben Bolt. 

He had been a sailor, but went to sea no more, 
having some more profltahle job on shore. 

Old Specie could guess what it was. 

He spent just ten minutes more, and at the end of 
that time was talking with the man. 

Knowing how to become confldential, he soon let 
Ben Bolt understand that he was in need of a job, 
and not over particular about its nature, so long as 
it proved profitable. 

The man eyed him reflectively, and stroked his 
chin in a meditative manner. 

‘T don’t know why you wouldn’t do for the job 
the boss has on his hands, partner.” 

^‘Why not? Is there money in it?” 

“He always pays well. Besides, comrade, it may 
lead to something better.” 

“Then count me in.” 

The detective understood the deep significance of 
those words far better than Ben Bolt ever dreamed 
he did. 

An appointment was made to meet the boss on 
the next night in this place. 

Old Specie never rushed things, 

In a great case like this caution was necessary in 
order to excite no e^larm in the minds of those he 
hunted. 


OLD SPECIE. 


25 


He had made great progress already. 

So, when the appointment was made, he took the 
first opportunity to separate from his newly found 
acquaintance. 

In less than ten minutes he was back in the dance 
hall, this time looking altogether different, and 
ready to attempt the task of spying upon Ben Bolt’s 
movements. 

This worthy was with another. 

They visited four places and treated. 

In each place payment was made with a gold cer- 
tificate, and not once was change refused. 

Old Specie saw the transaction in every case, and 
had his man dead to rights. 

It was evidently the purpose of the league to push 
the immediae circulation of the “queer.” 

They depended on its wonderful make-up, and 
hoped to reap a rich harvest ere the banks took the 
alarm. 

His success thus far made the tracker hope that 
he might see these fellows to their den, but he 
counted without his host. 

Ben Bolt was a sly old fox. 

His giving the government detective the slip even 
when not alarmed, showed what he could be equal 
to once his suspicions were aroused. 

Having victimized a fourth, man by means of the 
bogus bills, the two fellows crossed South street, 
and went out upon a pier. 

Old Specie suspected their object, though power- 
less to oppose it, nor did he have the least desire to 
do so at present. 

The arrest of these shovers of the queer would be 
simply lopping off a couple of branches from the 
tree— others would take their place. 


26 


OLD SPECIE. 


To accomplish a result that would count he must 
destroy the body of the tree, the roots that supplied 
the life to it all. 

The men he followed dropped into a boat that was 
fastened at the end of the pier. 

Then they rowed away down the river. 

Seeing by the light reflected from the bridge 
another boat lying in the same place, the detective 
instantly resolved to follow. 

He knew the risk he ran in doing so, and what a 
small margin of hope there was of discovering any- 
thing, but Old Specie was like a good player on the 
base-ball fleld to-day — he accepted every chance, no 
matter whether he had a sure thing or not. 

The worst he could do was to fail. 

Then he had the other string to his bow, and could 
realize on that. 

Quick as a flash he dropped into the second boat, 
and feeling around, discovered that it had oars 
lying across the thwarts. 

To untie the painter would lose him time — some- 
thing he could not afford. 

Out came a pocket-knife, and one slash set the 
boat at liberty. 

As he pushed out from behind the pier he could 
see the other boat ahead. 

The many electric lights along the shores of the 
East River light up its surface to a considerable ex- 
tent on a dark night. 

These are the harbor lights that mark the haven 
of belated Jack, coming up the bay with a flood tide. 

Then the bridge arch, and the great electric torch 
in the hand of Liberty beckon him on. 

Jack believes he has buffeted the dangers of the 
deep, and is safe in harbor at last. 


OLD SPECIE. 


27 


Little does he reckon that the stormy ocean holds 
no peril so great as that which lies in wait beyond 
those harbor lights — where human sharks rob him 
of his hard earned money, and vile liquor steals 
away his brains. 

In this desert of vice and shame, where one’s soul 
shudders at the sights and sounds around, let us 
thank Heaven for such oases as the Seaman's 
Church and Jerry McAuley’s Mission, the true har- 
bor lights of New York. 

Old Specie had taken up the oars. 

He had little hope of locating the men under such 
discouraging circumstances. 

As he pulled he was compelled to keep his head 
twisted in all directions, endeavoring to follow 
them, and at the same time keep an eye out for 
danger. 

There was enough of this to add spice to the oc- 
casion, for ferry boats were plunging across or up 
and down the river, while tugs also whisked past, 
aiming for the bay below, so as to be on the lookout 
for vessels in the morning. 

Hugging the. shore as well as possible, the two 
boats crept down toward Fulton street. 


CHAPTER IV. 

PROWLING IN DARK PLACES. 

More than once the detective had a narrow es- 
cape from a capsize. 

Once a ferry-boat pushed out of a slip just as he 
shot by. 

Through good fortune he had kept the boat ahead 
of him in sight all this while. 


28 


OLD SPECIE. 


Finally, however, what he had expected took 
place, to his vexation. 

A ferry-boat was making* for its slip, and the skiff 
he pursued came very near being struck, but aided 
by the tide and the power at the oars it pulled past 
just in the nick of time. 

Old Specie was delayed by the ferry-boat becom- 
ing stuck partly in the slip, and finally he was com- 
pelled to make a detour, going beyond. 

This took time. 

When he looked for the boat he had followed he 
could see no traces of it. 

Eowing rapidly, he hoped to make up for the 
lost time, but it was useless. 

When he reached Wall street he came to a con- 
clusion, and this was to the effect that the men had 
landed. 

Perhaps by going back and exploring each cove 
and slip he might find out just where they had gone 
ashore. 

This would help him. 

He had hopes of accomplishing this thing, because 
generally the owners of boats took pains to secure 
them with chain and padlock when night came on, 
knowing well the nature of the river thieves to steal 
anything they could. 

Besides, the presence of oars in the boat, and their 
being wet, would tell him when he was in the right. 

So he began his search. 

The strong ebb tide bothered him, but letting the 
oars lie in the boat, he pulled himself along by 
means of the piles. 

Into this slip he went and out again. 

Then a number of vessels were rounded, and a 
careful search made. 


OLD SPECIE. 


29 


As yet he saw no signs of the boat, and it was im- 
possible that it should have passed on down beyond 
the Battery. 

He still had hopes of discovering it concealed be- 
hind some bulkhead, or between lines of piling serv- 
ing as fenders for the ferry slips. 

It was long after midnight now. 

On South street much of the noise and glare had 
disappeared. 

Here and there were houses that were allowed to 
keep open all night, but in the main they were 
closed. 

The music and revelry had to cease at midnight, 
though the hands of crime are never tied by law, 
and work the night through. 

Leaving these dance halls and groggeries, thieves 
set about the real work of the night. 

Their business had been talked over during the 
earlier hours of the night, and now the time had ar- 
rived for the plans to be put into execution. 

From these pest houses go forth two-thirds, ay, 
nine-tenths of the criminals New York is infested 
with, and the most severe measures should be taken 
to limit their dangerous character as breeders of 
the disease. 

Old Specie had gone over almost half of the space 
between the foot of Wall street and the ferry slip 
where he lost track of his men. 

No result had followed. 

He would not give up so long as a foot remained 
unscanned. 

Through the dark noisome slips he pulled his boat, 
now and then resorting to the oars, but, as a gen- 
eral thing, drawing himself and craft along by the 
hold he had upon the piling. 


30 


OLD SPECIE. 


How strange everything appeared when seen 
through such spectacles as the occasion furnished 
to him. 

The washing of the tide past the end of the slip, 
the creaking of two piles that rubbed against each 
other, the whistle of a tug-boat or the hoarse an- 
swering toot from a passing ferry-boat — these and 
other sounds were to be heard as he moved slowly 
on. 

Black as ink looked the water. 

How many victims had it gathered in during this 
night? 

Those who seek to end life go to the cold embrace 
of the East River, where, in the dark night, there 
may be heard a cry of anguish from some deserted 
pier, a splash, and another wretched soul has gone 
to judgment. 

New York by daylight is a great sight, but the 
same city after dark is a stranger one, for then it 
seems as though the mask were thrown off, and hu- 
man nature appears in its natural colors — at one 
end of the city there reigns mirth, festivity, all the 
joys that money can bring, while at the other end 
lies poverty, debauchery, crime, suffering — death. 

It looks as though the favors of the gods were 
very unevenly distributed at times, and pondering 
upon such things as these one is not surprised at the 
dreams of the Socialist, who hopes some day to 
turn the vessel on a more even keel. 

The detective was becoming tired. 

It was certainly hard work pulling that heavy 
boat against the swift current. 

Had he been going the other way all would have 
been well enough, for then the tide might have as- 
sisted his progress. 


OLD SPECIE. 


31 


Besides, the piles were exceedingly slippery, being 
coated with slimy substance, and his hands suffered 
in consequence. 

Once he saw a boat move out of a dark place be- 
yond, but it only had a single occupant. 

“A harbor thief,’’ he muttered, as clinging to the 
end of a dock he watched the boat dodging down the 
river with the man rowing in the skulking manner 
that distinguishes these gentry. 

He still kept on. 

In a short time he would have reached the ferry 
slip when his quest must end. 

It promised to be fruitless. 

One thing the old treasury watch-dog had learned, 
and this was the shrewd manner in which Ben Bolt 
conducted his operation. 

Really there was some pleasure in pursuing a 
man as smart as this. 

In common with other celebrated sleuth-hounds 
of the law. Old Specie had come to look upon the or- 
dinary criminal as beneath his notice, and gloried 
in a chase that called out all his reserve powers. 

He was just moving along a dark wall of heavy 
woodwork, feeling for projections ahead that might 
be utilized to drag his craft onward, when suddenly 
he realized that another boat had shot into the slip. 

Before he could even guess what the nature of 
this craft might be, a flood of light was seen to issue 
from the other boat. 

This stream of light moved around the slip, up and 
down, disclosing every foot of surface, and finally 
rested upon the boat with its single occupant. 

“Hello! caught like a rat in a trap.” 

“Hands up, there!”* 

Old Specie smiled. 


32 


OLD SPECIE. 


He knew what it meant. 

This was the boat of the harbor police. 

The vigilant officers were making their customary 
round along the wharves. 

‘Tf I leave go here, ITl float away, gentlemen,” 
said the supposed river thief. 

“Seize hold of the boat, Mike.” 

The police patrol boat came forward and bumped 
into the craft of the detective. 

“Now, come aboard, you sneaking rascal. What 
has he in the boat, Mike?” 

“A lot of plunder.” 

“Aboard here, my fine fellow.” 

Old Specie was half inclined to obey and carry 
out the joke to the end, but he desired to finish the 
work he had undertaken. 

“Captain, don’t make a fool of yourself.” 

“Eh! what, you impudent devil ” 

“Remember Royal Sec and Coney Island, my dear 
captain.” 

“Confusion! here, give me that light.” 

He threw the penetrating glare full in the face of 
the detective, who winked at him. 

“Bless my soul, what are you doing here?” 

“Hunting ducks.” 

“Who’d expect ” 

“Say no more, captain. Mum’s the word.” 

“No, it’s Royal Sec, you mean.” 

“Fairly caught and extra dry. Now, kindly move 
along and leave me to my love.” 

“But you will shake hands?” 

“Willingly, but how is it with you? Look!” and 
he held up the blackest paws ever seen outside of 
negro land. 


OLD SPECIE. 


33 


“Excuse me this time,” laughed the jovial officer 
in command of the patrol boat. 

“You see it’s a pleasure trip I’m on. Good-night, 
captain, and success to you.” 

“The same to you, friend.” 

Then darkness fell, as the slide was dropped over 
the light. 

He could hear the boat of the police patrol cut- 
ting through the water, as it ran to the next bulk- 
head, and once more the detective was left alone ap- 
parently on the black river. 

He was anxious to complete his task, and kept on 
investigating each possible hiding-place on his 
route. 

At length the ferry slip was reached, below which 
he had had the last glimpse of the boat he sought so 
assiduously. 

That ended it for the present. 

He had his own ideas about the subject, and could 
give a guess as to the truth. 

Perhaps the men had abandoned their boat after 
leaving it, and it had floated out in the river far 
enough to be beyond range of his vision when he 
came down. 

Then there was another theory. 

Some of these docks and piers, being old and an- 
tiquated, it was possible to hide a boat beneath them 
—indeed, there were places that the dock rats used 
as dens, reached through some opening where the 
heavy planks had been knocked off in times past. 

Tying his boat with the remnant of painter left, 
the government detective walked away. 

He had done his best to run Ben Bolt to earth on 
this night, and only failed because circumstances 
were against him. 


34 


OLD SPECIE. 


His other iron in the fire might prove of better 
material, and he could possess his soul in patience 
while waiting for it to heat. 

Thr're could be no doubt about his being on the 
right trail, for he had seen Bolt hand four gold cer- 
tificates to as many unsuspecting proprietors of 
saloons, and this stamped him as a member of the 
counterfeiter league. 


CHAPTER Y. 

WALKING BLINDFOLDED. 

The next night Old Specie was promptly on hand 
in the South street dive, in his charact^^r of Caddy 
Cole, the sailor man. 

He had spent some years at sea himself, and was 
therefore well prepared to undertake such a part as 
this. 

They could not trip him up, at any rate, on ac- 
count of his lack of sea slang, and knowledge of the 
ropes. 

Ben Bolt was not yet on hand. 

He spent the time in making himself familiar 
with the bar-keeper, and soon appeared to be on an 
easy footing in the place. 

This was what he aimed for. 

Among those present the major portion of the men 
were seamen in port. 

There were numerous crooks to be found here, 
however, as men of their craft always look for a 
rich harvest among the sailors, who, being paid off 
many months’ wages when in port, are flush and 
proverbially generous with their money. 

The gathering amused Old Specie. 


OLD SPECIE. 


35 


He would have enjoyed it, only that he had busi- 
ness on hand now which must be attended to. 

Ben Bolt, on the previous night, when arranging 
with him for his services, had failed to mention any 
time. 

Consequently Old Specie came early. 

He would not have missed the connection for a 
considerable amount. 

Much depended on it. 

The time passed on, and as the hour grew later it 
seemed as though the revelry became more and 
more animated. 

With difficulty the proprietors of the den re- 
strained several seamen, who had spliced the main 
brace too often for their own good, and who felt like 
untamed steeds of the prairie. 

Their wild shouts could be heard above the music 
as they gave free rein to the enthusiasm that bub- 
bled over within them. 

Poor fools ! 

Half a dozen men had marked each of them for a 
victim, and when morning came they would be 
lucky if life remained. 

Old Sped 3 watched the clock. 

It was close on half-past eleven when he gave a 
grunt of satisfaction. 

His man had arrived. 

Ben Bolt soon, saw him. 

The detective was too shrewd to appear anxious 
about the matter. 

He desired to be wooed. 

It would strengthen his case. 

His game worked, too, for while he was talking 
confidentially with the bartender his man came up 
and tapped him on the arm. 


36 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘Hello, there. Ah, Mr. Bolt, is it you? Ac- 
quainted, Billy — my friend, Ben Bolt,’’ and he in- 
troduced the bartender just as though he were an 
old friend. 

It gave him prestige with Ben. 

They chatted a few minutes. 

Then Billy was called off to wait unon some 
thirsty pilgrim, and Ben Bolt took advantage of the 
opportunity to ask : 

“Concluded to go in with me, Caddy?” 

“Beckon as how I said I would, and I don’t never 
change my mind for nothing.” 

“Glad to hear it, comrade. Here’s another of the 
same sort. We’ll make a pretty team.” 

“What’s the game?” 

“I ain’t a goin’ to tell here. You come along with 
me, to where we can talk quiet like, and you’ll hear 
somethin’ about it.” 

This suited the detective. 

The sooner he got away from the dance house the 
better he would be pleased. 

It meant that he would be so much nearer ac- 
complishing his object. 

Of course he could not guess what the other meant 
to propose, but Old Specie, in order to gain a foot- 
ing in the gang, was ready to help him in almost 
anything short of taking a human life. 

His business was such that he had to dissemble 
and play a part. 

In this he was given the privilege of even appear- 
ing to be as bad as the men he hunted. 

It was no new experience for him to occupy such 
a position. 

His past was full of such events. 

The man who could write up this wonderful de- 


OLD SPECIE. 


37 


tective’s life for the last twenty years would have a 
book well calculated to cause a profound sensation, 
for he had been connected with many government 
affairs that had been kept a dead secret from the 
public. 

They sauntered out of the place. 

Ben Bolt took his arm in a confidential way, and 
thus they walked along the street. 

Being ready for almost anything, the detective 
manifested no undue anxiety over what was com- 
ing. 

He believed Ben had been given an outside job by 
his employer, and that, needing help, he had seized 
upon the most available man. 

This was exactly the case. 

The other soon took him to a station of the ele- 
vated road, and they rode up town. 

Not a word had yet been uttered regarding the 
nature of the business. 

More than once the detective found his, compan- 
ion looking at him in a peculiar way. 

Analyzing that look, he finally made it out to be 
genuine admiration. 

‘‘Well, you are a good un, Caddy,’’ the other at 
length exclaimed. 

“How so?” 

“Not a blessed question have ye asked about the 
business we’re on.” 

“All in good time, comrade.” 

“Douse my glim, man, I like you — that’s flat. I 
believe we’ll make a great team.” 

“Wait and see.” 

“We’re nearly there. I won’t be dumb much 
longer.” 


38 


OLD SPECIE. 


Old Specie was curious, of course, to know the na- 
ture of this wild goose chase in which he had volun- 
teered to take a part. 

At the same time he had been wise enough to 
keep this natural feeling down. 

Something seemed to tell him he was in for a 
strange adventure, however. 

They left the elevated at an up town station. 

Five minutes’ walk took them into the region of 
brown stone houses. 

Old Specie had imagined several things, as the 
aim of this expedition. 

Now he began to realize that these were out of the 
way entirely. 

A new thought came. 

This man was about to play the part of a burglar, 
and break into some house. 

The detective did not fancy the move, but he 
would exercise his judgment about it. 

Perhaps the game was simply one to try his nerve 
and see how far he would go. 

He did not forget the grand object in view, and 
rough as the road might be leading to this goal, he 
meant to pursue it. 

Ben’s actions now told that they were in the 
neighborhood of their destination. 

He looked up and down the street. 

It seemed to be all clear. 

Not a soul in sight. 

Fortune evidently favored them. 

'Hlere we are,” said Ben. 

They had halted in front of an elegant mansion, 
which had a double width, taking up the space gen- 
erally devoted to two. 

Old Specie surveyed it with wonder. 


OLD SPECIE. 


39 


What could be intended? 

To burglarize such a building was a bold act, in- 
deed. 

They were close to a corner. 

“You remain here, Caddy, while I go to the cor- 
ner to see if the carriage is there.” 

Carriage ! 

What under the sun did they want with a car- 
riage in the game? 

The detective became more interested. 

He began to believe something far beyond mere 
burglary was intended. 

Crouching in the darkness, where Ben Bolt had 
left him, he again surveyed the mansion, in front of 
which they had halted. 

It seemed to be wrapped in absolute darkness — no, 
through the closed blinds of one window he caught 
a streak of light. 

Was there some one up? 

Perhaps they were expected. 

Try as he would he could not make head or tail of 
the strange game. 

A little more patience was needed, and then it 
would all be spread out before him. 

Footsteps caught his ear. 

It was Ben returning. 

The latter presently reached his side. 

“It’s all right — the carriage is there. We have 
jest six hours afore daylight. Some tall work’s got 
to be done by that time.” 

Old Specie thought it probable. 

Of the nature of that work he had not the faintest 
idea, however. 

“Now, before we goes in, Caddy, it’s only fair I 
should give ye warning.” 


-40 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘Just so.’’ 

“I ain’t going to tell ye what the affair is. You’ll 
find out all you’re wanted to know as we go along. 
What I want to warn ye against is aii}^ undue curi- 
osity. Take things as ye find ’em, do as ye are told, 
and I’m sure the boss’ll see in you a man after his 
own heart.” 

“Count on me, comrade. You’ve seen I could 
keep a quiet tongue already.” 

“So I have. Come along.” 

To the surprise of the detective Ben proceeded di- 
rectly up the broad steps of the mansion. 

Burglars generally crept around to the rear, or 
forced an entrance through a basement window— 
this was the most surprising act for a burglar that 
he had ever seen. 

Perhaps these gentry were learning new tricks in 
the last year or two. 

One of them must have been the procuring of 
night keys to save the labor of forcing a door with 
bar and jimmy, for Ben> Bolt, upon arriving at the 
top of the stone steps, took such a convenient little 
article from his pocket, and inserted it in the key- 
hole of the night latch. 

The door silently opened. 

“Step in.” 

Old Specie did so. 

The hall was dark. 

He could not see anything at first, but presently 
his eye was attracted toward a delicate pencil of 
light that seemed to be under a door. 

Ko doubt beyond this lay the room where he had 
seen the light. 

By this time Ben had managed to quietly close the 
front door. 


OLD SPECIE. 


41 


What next? 

A hand clutched the detective^s arm. 

‘^Come along, comrade.’’ 

They moved straight for the light. 

Old Specie could tell that his companion was grop- 
ing ahead so that he might not run into a newel post 
at the foot of the stairs, or some other obstacle he 
believed to be at hand. 

Thus moving along they reached a door. 

Ben’s hand groped along the face of this until he 
found the knob. 

Then he deliberately opened it. 

A library lay beyond. 

At a glance Old Specie saw this, and also the fact 
that the room had an occupant. 

He guessed at once that the object of their mid- 
night visit was not burglary, since burglars do not 
make it a point to enter rooms where people are sit- 
ting up waiting for them. 

This was the case here. 

The party who sat in a chair raised his head at 
their entrance. It was a man. 

Somehow, at sight of him, the detective experi- 
enced a strange sensation. 

Possibly he had seen the man before. 

In figure the gentleman was tall and slender, but 
his body was that of an athlete. 

He possessed keen eyes that seemed to pierce one 
through and through. 

His face was smoothly shaven, all but the upper 
lip, which carried a dark mustache. 

Ben Bolt walked straight up to him and held out 
his hand. 

‘"On deck, captain. Ain’t it time?” 

‘‘You are punctual, Ben, Who is this?” 


42 


OLD SPECIE. 


“The feller I spoke about— close as a clam, and I 
reckon daring as a tiger.’’ 

“We are in need of such men,” significantly. 

“So I thought. How’s everything?” 

“Just as I said it would be.” 

“She’s waiting, then?” 

“Yes.” 

“I calculate we ought to be back here in about 
four hours.” 

“I give you five, because you may have some 
trouble at the vault.” 

“That’ll be some time afore daybreak.” 

“Yes, it’s hardly light before six now.” 

“Time enough.” 

“Is the closed carriage on hand?” 

“Round the corner.” 

“Have you seen the driver?” 

“Yes, and given him orders to be in front of the 
house in ten minutes.” 

“Then we’d better not waste time.” 

“Correct.” 

“Remember, I have much at stake here, Ben. I 
want no blunders.” 

“There won’t be any. Whar is she?” 

The gentlemanly athlete pointed over his shoulder 
with his thumb. 

“Beyond that door.” 

“Any light in there?” 

“I’ll provide one.” 

He picked up a painted candle from the fancy 
candelabra on the mantel, and held its wick up to 
the gas. 

“Here we are.” 

Old Specie followed readily, for he was very cu- 
rious to learn what was in the wind. 


OLD SPECIE. 


43 


These men carried on a singular deal, and the so- 
lution of the mystery could not come any too soon 
to suit him. 

So he quietly fell in their rear, and advanced until 
the portal of the connecting door had been passed 
over, when there opened before him a sight that 
caused him some uneasiness. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

The room itself seemed to be a parlor. 

It was elegantly furnished. 

Money could hardly purchase more magnificence 
than lay here. 

Old Specie had been around some, and even looked 
upon the splendor of the Vanderbilt mansions, so he 
was not the one to be taken aback. 

His attention, after that one sweeping glance 
around, was riveted upon a certain object in the 
center of the room. 

This was nothing more nor less than the appa- 
rently lifeless form of a young girl. 

She lay back in an easy chair, her head resting on 
the stuffed arm. 

As the candle light fell upon her face it was seen 
to be one of rtoarkable beauty, but pale as wax, and 
with the eyes closed as in sleep. 

Old Specie scented a terrible mystery. 

Some crime had been done here. 

The girl had perhaps been murdered, and now 
they desired to get her out of the way. 

Old campaigner as he was, he shuddered at the 
possibility of such a thing. 


44 


OLD SPECIE. 


Less than ever did he now regret having decided 
to enter this game. 

It seemed as though the hand of fate must have 
kindly drawn him on. 

Yes, he was ready to see this thing through to the 
very end. 

Was the girl dead? 

She looked like it, and again there were things 
that made him believe otherwise. 

‘‘You have something to wrap her in?” asked Ben 
Bolt, taking his eyes off that lovely face long 
enough to look at his employer. 

“Yes, here’s a long mantle.” 

He tossed the article in question to Ben’s compan- 
ion, with a careless nod. 

“Lift her up while Ben wraps that about her.” 

No sooner had Old Specie raised the girl than he 
knew she lived, though her senses must have been 
stolen away by some drug. 

Instead of her body showing the rigor of death, it 
was yielding, such as an insensible person would be, 
having no control over the muscles. 

For this he was glad. 

If murder was on the programme it had not yet 
been consummated, and there might still be time to 
save this young girl, who seemed to be helpless in 
the midst of enemies. 

“A last word, Ben Bolt.” 

“Ay, ay, sir.” 

The gentleman athlete looked him squarely in the 
eyes — his manner was significant. 

“Treachery means death.” 

“So I understand, captain.” 

“Never forget that, nor you, my man. I pay hand- 
somely for any work done, but the man who betrays 


45 


OLD SPECIE. 

my trust di^s his own grave. You have your orders, 
Ben. Go.^’ 

“You’ll be up waiting for us?” 

“Undoubtedly. There’s no sleep for me to-night.” 

“I never failed ye before. Come, Caddy, bring 
her out to the vehicle.” 

Old Specie found the young girl no light weight, 
as she was no fairy ; but he was a strong man, and 
accomplished his task. 

A hack stood before the door. 

The lamps were lighted, but no numbers could be 
seen on them. 

Ben held open the carriage door. 

The detective with his burden entered. 

He placed the silent figure, bundled in the mantle, 
upon the back seat, allowing her head to rest in the 
corner, then sat beside her. 

Ben entered. 

He had not said a word to the driver, who un- 
doubtedly knew the business he had been hired for, 
having been posted beforehand. 

Away they rattled. 

Old Specie noted one fact to begin with — they 
were heading north. 

So long as the vehicle danced along over the cob- 
blestones of the city, talking was useless. 

The detective sat and pondered. 

He would have given much to have known the 
real facts in the case, so that he might govern his 
actions accordingly. 

However, he contented himself with the refiection 
that gradually the truth would be drawn out. 

It could not long remain a mystery while he 
worked at the case. 

At length they crossed the Harlem Biver. 


46 


OLD SPECIE. 


Then a new kind of road was struck. 

Talking became possible again, and Ben Bolt 
learned forward in bis seat. 

“You don’t seem curious, Caddy.’’ 

“Well, I am, but I say nothing.” 

“Caddy, bless me heart, man, I love ye for that 
kind of talk. Ye’re a wonderful man. Now, I don't 
know why ye shouldn’t ask a few questions about 
this business, so pitch in. If so be I don’t choose to 
answer, either because I don’t know, or don’t choose 
to tell, no harm done.” 

“Certainly not, Ben. This here pretty maid ain’t 
dead, be she?” 

“I reckon not.” 

“Does he want her to be?” 

“Ye’ll find that out soon enough.” 

“Who’s the boss?” 

“A wonderful man that knows the easiest way o’ 
makin’ money in the world.” 

Old Specie started. 

Was this a mere accident, or did Ben mean it? 

“Seems to me I’ve seen him afore.” 

“Where at?” 

“In Washington.” 

“Ah! when was you there?” 

“About five years ago— employed in the treasury 
building. I’m a war veteran, ye know, an’ fit along- 
side Farragut at Mobile. ” 

This was exactly true. 

Ben Bolt took it as he saw it, however. 

“Then I reckon ye left the treasury because it was 
healthy to get out— kinder coveted some of the piles 
ye saw, eh?” 

“No insinuations on my honesty, Ben. I left be- 
cause it suited my convenience. Besides, I thought 


OLD SPKOTE. 


47 


I had a big game in hand where the government 
could be beat out of a pile of gold shipped from Cali- 
fornia.’’ 

“Did you succeed?” 

‘‘No. The feller I took in with me weakened at 
the knees just when everything was set for business, 
and refused to turn the switch that was to throw 
the express down an embankment, so we lost the 
treasure.” 

“That was a daring game.” 

“I’ve been in some others bigger that I’ll tell 
ye about some day. The authorities don’t know all 
Caddy Cole’s been up to. If they did there wouldn’t 
be any rest here for me.” 

“Every hour I’m more glad I ran across you, old 
man. I’ve looked for you, or one like you, these three 
years back. A man don’t like to run alone, don’t ye 
know?” 

“Well, we’ll try it in double harness for a while, 
to see how we get on. Where are we going now?” 

“To a certain grave-yard.” 

“But we ain’t got no corpse.” 

“Coin’ to get one.” 

This beat everything. 

What was to be done with the girl? 

She lived, and yet they were taking her to a ceme- 
tery. 

Old Specie lay back and cudgeled his brains. 

He began to believe this was about to prove the 
most astonishing case he had run across in many a 
day. 

The long ride continued. 

Country scenes lay around them. 

The late moon had arisen and hung in the eastern 
sky. 


48 


OLD SPECIE. 


She gave a yellow light that made things look 
weird and uncanny. 

Looking out, Old Specie saw they were traveling 
along a country road. 

Once the vehicle stopped. 

The driver got down to fix something about the 
horses’ harness, after which he deliberately extin- 
guished the two side lights of the coach. 

They did not need them for light now, and there 
was no law to compel their burning here. 

The journey was resumed. 

It seemed lucky, indeed, that the animals drawing 
them were both fresh and strong, else they would 
never have done the work. 

“Nearly there,” said Ben, at length. 

“Glad to hear it,” yawned his companion. 

The words of the former were verified. 

In about ten minutes the vehicle turned aside, 
passed under some trees, and then the voice of the 
driver said : 

“Gents, we’ve arrived.” 

Ben Bolt opened a door and sprang out. 

“Come, bring the gal. We ain’t got much time to 
lose, Caddy. Fetch her along.” 

Again the detective tenderly raised the drooping 
form of the girl and carried her. 

They were close to a hedge. 

Ben walked along this until he came to a place 
where there was an opening. 

His movements were not haphazard— they be- 
trayed the fact that he had been here before, and 
knew the lay of the land. 

Through this opening in the hedge he passed. 

“Beware of the wire fence— it’s broken, but apt 

ter scratch your ships/' 


OLD SPECIE. 


49 


^‘All right, Ben, I’m over.” 

‘‘Ye see whar we be.” 

In the moonlight scores of white slabs could be 
seen stretching away up the slope. 

Trees grew here and there, some of them weeping 
willows, so appropriate to grave-yards. 

The shadows were dense under their rustling 
branches, and when the long outstretched arms 
waved in the night wind there was something 
ghostly about the movement. 

To add to the solemnity of the scene an owl had 
perched himself somewhere amid the trees, and 
ever and anon gave vent to a sepulchral groaning 
hoot that chilled the blood. 

The circumstances under which a sound is heard 
govern its significance. 

Old Specie looked around. 

“This here is cheerful,” he remarked. 

“Come right along this way, comrade. Thar ain’t 
nothing to be afraid of here. I’ve known worse 
things in the city than this.” 

Straight forward Ben Bolt strode. 

His new companion followed. 

They skirted the rise, passing around it. 

Here the new part of the cemetery was left behind, 
and the old one lay before them. 

A number of old style mausoleums were in sight, 
some white in the moonlight, others dingy. 

All were made of stone. 

Toward one of these Ben headed, and the detec- 
tive saw that his destination was at hand, 


50 


OLD SPECIE. 


CHAPTER VIL 

CHANGED IN THE COFFIN. 

This particular sepulcher was partly surrounded 
by large bushes. 

It seemed to nestle among them. 

Ben Bolt held something in his hand, and the 
moonlight gleaming from it as he swung it around 
disclosed a large brass key. 

This, no doubt, was to open the tomb. 

Old Specie remembered having heard the man in 
the mansion speak of the vault. 

He evidently referred to this. 

A flight of some five or six stone steps led down 
into the stone vault. 

Then an iron door was seen, in the top of which 
were entilators. 

Ben used the key, which undoubtedly belonged to 
this lock, for the door opened immediately at his 
command. 

Then he took out a piece of candle, struck a match, 
and applied it to the wick. 

Something of this kind was needed, for the interior 
of the tomb was dark. 

Although Old Specie still held the unconscious 
burden in his arms, he looked around him with con- 
siderable interest. 

Whatever strange mission brought them to this 
tomb, it would soon be made manifest. 

The spectacle was revolting in one way, as the air 
was also nauseating. 

At one end several old cofHn§ were piled one on 
top of another. 


OLD SPECIE. 


51 


Age had rotted them away. Bones could be seen 
within, showing that the occupants must have been 
placed in this receptacle many years before. 

In the middle of the sepulcher, however, lay a 
new casket upon two blocks. Ben’s eyes seemed to 
rest upon this as though it contained the object of 
his desires. First of all he pushed the door shut. 

It closed with a clang that sounded hollow to 
them, partly underground as they were. 

“Lay the gal down. Oh! don’t mind being so 
hanged particular about it. She ain’t dead, but all 
the same, she might as well be. Now come here and 
help me open this walnut box.” 

He had a screw driver in his hand. 

The piece of candle was placed on the end of the 
coffin, a screw selected, and Ben set to work. He 
was a clumsy hand at it. 

“Never could handle a carpenter’s tools. If I had 
I’d been brought; up to the trade, for my old man 
was a ship owner,” he said. 

“Give me the tool.” 

Old Specie was an adept. 

He took out the screws in quick order, and com- 
manded praise from Bolt. 

“Thar’s the last un. Now, raise the lid, Ben.” 

As the other did so the detective uttered a cry. 

The coffin had an occupant. 

A young girl lay there. 

She seemed to be dead, yet looked no whiter than 
the girl he had been carrying. 

It was not this fact that caused him to give vent 
to that cry, however, but the astonishing resem- 
blance existing between the girl in the casket and 
the one brought there. 


52 


OLD SPECIE. 


Had they been sisters it could not have been more 
marked. 

‘‘Surprised, eh, Caddy?” 

“I am, indeed.” 

“Look alike, don’t they?” 

“Sisters?” 

“No relation as I knows on. Captain says so, at 
any rate. Now, this one in here, Florence her name 
was, must come out.” 

It semed like desecration to see that rough and 
evil man take the mortal remains of that young 
girl out of the casket. 

The detective boiled with indignation. 

He was tempted to let the case go, and break up 
this dark e^ame in its inception. 

Second thought was best. 

He restrained himself. 

Since it had gone this far he might as well see the 
thing through. 

So he waited. 

“Now, Florence that was is out, and Amy that is 
must go in — understand?” 

There could be no mistaking him. 

Old Specie, without delay — for he dreaded to have 
this rough man’s hands touch her — laid the living 
girl in the coffin. 

His feelings, as he gazed upon her there, were be- 
yond analysis. 

“Now put the lid on.” 

“Be you going to leave her here?” 

“Exactly.” 

“It looks like the captain wanted her out of the 
way.” 

“He’s playing some big game. I don’t pretend to 
understand it, and don’t care to.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


63 


‘‘Seems to me this gal alive would be worth some 
money to you.’’ 

The two men looked at each other. 

In the eyes of Ben Bolt there was a startled ex- 
pression, which Old Specie rightly interpreted to 
mean that his words had hit the other’s secret 
thoughts exactly. 

Ben was not r^'ady to make a confidant of his 
new friend, however. 

“You heard what the captain said?” 

“What? About treachery?” 

“Yes, and he’ll do what he says.” 

“Two can play at that game, Ben. I don’t fear 
any man, and if I saw a way clear to make a for- 
tune out of this girl, if I was you I’d do it every 
time.” 

“No, I don’t dare to do it. Put the screws in.” 

There was nothing more to say. 

Old Specie did as he was requested, and the coffin 
was soon closed again. 

Then the black mantle was wrapped about the 
other form — that Florence was dead there could be 
no question. 

What did it mean? A man did not exchange a liv- 
ing for a dead form without some accursed villainy 
in view that stamped him a devil in human shape. 

“Let’s be moving.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Two ten.” 

“Do we go back the same way we came?” 

“Yes.” 

“And to that house?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, of course it ain’t none of my business, but 
if I was you, Ben, I’d remember that it ain’t every 


54 


OLD SPECIL. 


day in the year a man gets such a chance to feather 
his own nest.’’ 

The other growled something. 

He was bending over the coffin. 

“It stands to reason a man like yer boss ain’t in a 
game like this unless the stakes is mighty high— 
ain’t it so?” 

“Reckon it am.” 

“That bein’ the case, he’d pay well to get the girl 
in his hands again — thousands on thousands of dol- 
lars, I reckon.” 

He was tempting the other with a purpose. 

It might mean Amy’s life. 

Ben Bolt would, and he wouldn’t — that is, his 
spirit was willing enough, but the flesh proved too 
weak to try it. 

He feared his master. 

That was the truth of the matter. 

“Say no more, Caddy. I’m above temptation. The 
captain trusts me, and I don’t go back on him.” 

Very flne words these, but Old Specie knew well 
they did not come from a heart that was ready to do 
right. 

“Needs must when the devil drives.” 

He thought it best to say no more. 

If Ben Bolt would not do anything to save the life 
of the young girl, then perhaps he might himself ac- 
complish it. 

A man so accustomed to meeting emergencies as 
himself ought to be able to do something in this 
line. 

At any rate he was advancing, and step by step 
unearthing the plot which the gentleman athlete in 
the Fifth avenue mansion had arranged with such 
care for detail, a plot the like of which Old Specie 


OLD SPECIE. 


55 


had certainly never heard of or run across in his 
lifetime. 

With the form of the girl bundled up in his arms 
he stepped to the door of the sepulcher. 

Ben lifted the candle. 

He had just pursed up his lips to blow the light 
out, when he heard his companion give utterance to 
an exclamation. 

‘‘Hello, Ben!’^ 

“What’s the row?” 

“Can’t open the door.” 

Ben believed he meant his arms were so full that 
he could not use a hand. 

“Wait; I’ll do it.” 

With that he blew the light out. 

Absolute darkness reigned then. 

Groping his way to the door Ben got lost, and the 
first thing he knew he had run against the debris of 
the old coffins. 

. As he started away from this point with an oath, 
he fell over the other casket. 

“What in the name of fury are you doing?” de- 
manded his companion. 

“Lookin’ for you.” 

“I thought you took too many nips at that bottle 
on the way out. Here I am. See the light through 
the ventilators above me.” 

“And here' I am— where’s the door? I’ll open it, 
and we — what in the fiend does this mean?” 

He tugged at the door. 

It refused to give way. 

“Jupiter! we’re locked in the old hole.’^ 

“That’s bad.” 

“It’s awful. How d’ye suppose it happened? 
Some enemy’s turned the key in the lock.” 


56 


OLD SPECIE. 


no.” 

‘‘What, then?” 

“I reckon it’s a spring lock. I heard a snap when 
ye pushed it shut. ’ 

“One’s as bad as the other.” 

“Kot much.” 

“How can we remedy it?” 

“Get out o’ here.” 

“I don’t see ” 

“You hold this here bundle.” 

“Put it down on the floor.” 

“Well, light up that candle agin.” 

So the candle had to be relighted, and once more 
the gloomy interior of the tomb was illuminated. 

Old Specie bent over to examine the lock. 

He knew all about locks, and might have set up 
in business as a locksmith. 

“Look here, ye see the key’s thar yet.” 

“Well?” 

“If some one had locked us in he’d a removed the 
key, don’t ye see.” 

“I guess ye’re right, Caddy.” 

“Well, the only thing to be done under the pres- 
ent circumstances is to turn that key.” 

“By putting yer arm through the door, eh?” sar- 
castically asked Ben. 

“Oh, no. Thar’s better ways than that, if ye’ll 
stop to consider, comrade. An’ again, I allers go 
prepared for emergencies, because they make up 
about half o^ life.” 

As he spoke he took from one of his pockets a 
small but powerful pair of nippers. 

Fastened upon any round object, their jaws were 
so fashioned that they would pot let go. 


OLD SPECIE. 


67 


They were built upon a peculiar model, and just 
suited to the work in hand. 

It took Old Specie just two minutes, and then he 
had accomplished his end. 

‘‘Open sesame.’’ 

The door flew back on its hinges. 

“Good boy, Caddy. I love ye more yet. By the 
powers, ye’re handy to have around the house.” 

“Give me the girl.” 

He took the burden, and walked up the steps. 

Ben waited only long enough to clang the iron 
door and hounded up after him. 

As he did so he heard voices. 

His comrade was no longer alone. 

A dark form had sprung out of the bushes and 
confronted the detective just as he left the upper 
step behind him. 


CHAPTERR VIII. 

MEPHISTOPHELES. 

“Who are you, and what do you want in this sa- 
cred place?” demanded the dark flgure, suddenly. 

“Jupiter!” exclaimed the detective, surprised at 
this unexpected rencontre. 

“Wretch, you came out of that tomb where she 
lies, my darling. What have you in your arms? 
My soul — it is — I believe — villain, accursed villain, 
have you dared lay a rude hand on her sacred form? 
I will tear your black heart out. I will rend you 
limb from limb with the strength of a Hercules.” 

He sprang at Old Specie with the fury of a mad- 
man, and it certainly looked as though he was 
about to put his threat into execution. 


58 


OLD SPECIE. 


An obstacle presented itself. 

This was in the shape of Ben Bolt. 

He believed their game was discovered, and that 
this unknown might raise an alarm. 

Filled with sudden passion he sprang at the other 
and struck him a terrific blow. 

It would have felled an ox almost. 

The stranger went down as if struck by light- 
ning, and lay motionless upon the ground. 

“Have ye killed him, Ben?’’ asked the other, 
alarmed at the issue. 

“Reckon not, but he deserves it, curse him.” 

“Who is he?” 

“One Jack Ramsay.” 

“Ye seem to know him.” 

“I’ve seen the young feller afore,” doggedly. 

“See here, what relation does he bear to the gal 
of the coffin?” 

“None to the one in thar now; reckon he never 
set eyes on her.” 

“Then to this poor girl who is dead?’' 

“He was her lover.” 

“Ah!” 

Old Specie said no more. 

As he turned away, however, he cast a tender, 
pitying glance upon the motionless form of the 
young man lying on the cold ground. 

Poor fellow ! 

He had come to mourn at the tomb where they 
had laid away his heart’s desire, and to his amaze- 
ment and horror had found unknown men issuing 
forth from the place, bearing a human body wrapped 
in a mantle. 

No wonder, as the true force of the situation burst 
upon him, that his brain almost went aflame, and he 


OLD SPECIE. 


59 


had but one object in life— to tear to pieces the 
s-houls who dared desecrate the sacred sepulcher of 
the dead. 

There he lay, motionless— his lost love seemed to 
be no more lifeless than he. 

Yes, the old detective pitied him. 

It was no time to give way to the emotions of 
the hour. 

Work remained to he done. 

Duty beckoned him on. 

Nor did Ben Bolt care to linger in the vicinity 
any longer than he could possibly help. 

“Too dangerous here. Make for the kerriage.’’ 

He did not even offer to asist the other in carrying 
his burden, but led off with long strides so that the 
detective had hard work to keep up. 

The corner of the cemetery was aimed for where 
they had entered. 

Dodging among the tombstones, they passed 
around the side of the hill, until in the moonlight 
they saw the opening in the hedge. 

Through this they passed. 

Old Specie was breathing heavily. 

He believed that no matter what came out of this 
night’s work he had earned his pay. 

The carriage was there still, the driver sitting on 
the box like a figure of stone. 

“Glad ye come— nearly froze,’’ he grunted, with 
a glance of curiosity at the strange burden Old Spe- 
cie carried, very like the one he had taken into the 

cemetery, only more rigid. 

The Jehu must have been paid a royal sum for his 

services of the night. 

He was another tool of the captain. 

Once they were all within the vehicle, the horses, 


60 


OLD SPECIE. 


rested during this half hour, were put in motion, 
heading toward the distant metropolis. 

The strange night’s business had been accom- 
plished. 

Old Specie was not much nearer an explanation 
than he had been before. 

True, he had done what he desired, and gained the 
good favor of his companion. 

His own case was materially advanced, and there 
was now a prospect that the man at the head of the 
concern would advance him. 

He wanted this. 

It was what he worked for. 

When he gained his end, he could look back to 
this night’s work with pridCo 

Other things troubled him. 

One in particular he could not banish from his 
mind for five minutes at a time. 

This concerned Amy. 

Who was she? 

Why did the captain want to get rid of the lovely 
girl? 

Was she an heiress, and would her property go to 
him in the event of her death? 

These, and dozens of other questions regarding the 
strange transfer of bodies that had taken place, kept 
the detective busy. 

One thing he had made sure of. 

This wa^ the location of the tomb. 

Over the iron door he had seen a name in white 
letters that could be easily read when the moonlight 
fell upon this side. 

Caldwell. 

He wondered if that was Amy’s name. 


OLD SPECIE. 


61 


Then how come the other there— the young girl 
whose dead body they were now transporting back 
to the city to replace the living? 

Besides, this wonderful likeness must have some 
meaning — it could not be accidental. 

Ben Bolt had said there was no relationship be- 
tween the two ; but he did not know everything 
and might be mistaken. 

When Old Specie -got to thinking of the girl left to 
perish in the tomb, his indignation grew within, and 
he determined that such a foul wrong as this should 
not be. 

How could he save her? 

He had done his best to interest Ben Bolt in a 
scheme whereby her life might be saved, by show- 
ing him how he could hold a power over his em- 
ployer by doing this thing. 

Ben, however, either through fear of his master, 
or some other cause, had declined to enter into such 
a game. 

Hence the field was open. 

Having determined to do this thing, even at the 
risk of hurting his own chances, the next question 
was as to the means to be employed. 

He knew the name of the cemetery. 

The railroad ran close by its entrance, and most 
funerals went that way, as the drive from the city 
was too far. 

It would not be a difficult thing for him to reach 
the place. 

After that his actions could be governed by what 
happened there. 

So he decided on his plan. 

The carriage rolled on. 

At length the Harlem River was crossed. 


62 


OLD SPECIE. 


Then came the rattling again over the streets of 
the great city. 

Once again the driver had lighted up his side 
lamps, for there was a city ordinance compelling 
this, and he did not want to invite attention to his 
vehicle just now. 

They neared the starting point. 

A clock near by chimed the hour. 

Five ! 

‘Tn very good time,’’ said Ben. 

‘‘Yes, it’s dark enough yet.” 

The only vehicles they met were the milk wagons 
delivering their lacteal fluid all over the city, clat- 
tering along over the stones with the vim of so many 
fire engines. 

No wonder people complained. 

Time will probably bring its changes, and the 
people see the day when their . milk is delivered in 
some more silent way, but it is a long time coming, 
and ere that blessed hour arrives, the present genera- 
tion will no doubt have departed to a country where 
milk carts and kindred annoyances are unknown. 

“Here we are !” 

The carriage drew up at the curb. 

Any one hearing it would naturally believe it must 
be a milk wagon. 

They certainly would not think it worth while to 
investigate. 

Ben sprang out. 

“Give it to me.” 

“No, I’ll carry it in.” 

“All right. I’ll go ahead and open the door.” 

The carriage at once moved away, leaving them 
in the darkness on the pavement. 

Not a soul was stirring near by. 


OLD SPECIE. 


63 


The noble mansion, as before, was wrapped in 
gloom, but it no longer mystified the detective with 
regard to what lay beyond. 

He knew now. 

Ben found the door give way before his touch, 
and they entered. 

With the gentle closing of the door Ben gave a 
sigh of relief. 

The library door was slightly ajar. 

When they entered, the gentleman athlete was 
standing there, his hand gripping the back of a 
chair, and his expressive face a study. 

His eyes, eager and dilated, were instantly glued 
upon the detective’s burden. 

Was it success or failure? 

‘‘Captain, we’re back,” said Ben. 

His manner must have betrayed the true state of 
affairs to the other, for immediately his face light- 
ed up. 

“So I see, Ben— and successful?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good, emphatically good.” 

Old Specie had not waited to be told, but went 
over to the lounge, upon which he deposited his life- 
less burden. 

Some men would have shuddered at the thought 
of having been carrying a corpse, but his nerves 
were made of steel— nothing in the course of human 
events seemed to disturb them in the least. 

Kemoving the mantle so that the girl’s face was 
revealed, the man stood looking at it steadily, his 
arms folded across his chest. 

It was a good chance to study him. 

Old Specie improved the opportunity. 


64 


OLD SPECIE. 


He found a man worth studying, for the other’s 
features were exceedingly strong. 

The picture would never leave his mind. 

“Wonderfully like, yes, marvelously so. Who 
could ever detect the cheat? Yes, I can defy the 
world with this girl. And can it be this is an acci- 
dental resemblance? It seems utterly impossible, 
and yet appearances indicate it.” 

He hardly seemed to realize that his words were 
spoken above his breath. 

That cold, marble-like face seemed to entrance 
him. 

Finally, with an effort, he broke the spell that 
bound him. 

“Tell me what you did, Ben Bolt.” 

The other gave a short description of their trip. 

There were two things he neglected to state. 

The first was the temptation which his companion 
had put in his way. 

Secondly, he made no mention of the encounter in 
the grave-yard with the young man whom he had 
called Jack Eamsay, the lover of the dead Florence, 
and whom they had left senseless on the field. 

Old Specie was not surprised. 

He saw Ben didn’t desire to arouse any suspicion 
in his employer’s mind that things were going con- 
trary-wise. 

It was a shrewd idea. 

As to the other event— well, perhaps the seed 
sown had found soil by the wayside after all, 
though it had not sprung up as quickly as the de- 
tective could have wished. 


OLD SPECIE. 


65 




CHAPTER IX. 

TOO LATE. 

‘‘Then your new comrade served you well. I am 
glad of it. We havo need of such men. Later on 
we can put him in the way of big money, eh, Ben?” 

“Just so, captain.” 

There was some more talk. 

Old Specie felt a roll of bills shoved into his hand, 
and when he opened it, he found among others a 
couple of the wonderful counterfeits. 

This fact convinced him that he had not been mis- 
taken in his surmise regarding the identity of the 
gentleman athlete. 

This was August Delmar, the wonderful counter- 
feiter, known once as Colonel Blood. 

His adventures would fill a volume. 

For years he had vanished, and it was even sup- 
posed by many that he was dead. 

When the government detective saw the astound- 
ing work on the bogus gold certificates, he was at 
once impressed with the belief that no one save 
August Delmar could have executed such marvel- 
ous workmanship. 

ISTow he knew it. 

The more he looked at the man, and noted his 
character, the stronger grew his conviction that it 
was Delmar. 

If this were so, the latter’s disappearance for some 
years was explained. 

All the while he had been living in Xew York un- 
der an assumed name. 


66 


OLD SPECIL. 


Shaving off his once luxuriant side whiskers, and 
dyeing both hair and mustache black, had indeed al- 
tered the blonde colonel, so that his most intimate 
friend of the past might easily have passed him by 
unrecognized in the street. 

There was much to be learned concerning his po- 
sition here — how he came to be a gentleman of ease 
and fortune — what relation he bore to the young 
girl he had doomed to such a terrible fate — all these 
things there were to discover in the near future. 

Just now the detective was anxious to leave the 
place. 

He had a duty to perform. 

It was necessary that he should make all possible 
haste in order that success might come, and a hu- 
man life be saved. 

Under these circumstances, therefore, it was with 
pleasure that he saw Ben Bolt making preparations 
to depart. 

They were soon out on the pavement. 

The first gleam of coming day could be seen in the 
eastern heavens. 

“Which way?’’ asked the detective. 

“I’m off to my den to sleep.” 

“I have a hole, too, where I can put in about five 
hours sleep.” 

“Shall I see you to-night, Caddy?” 

“Same place?” 

“Yes.” 

“You said you was a-goin’ to put me in a way to 
make a pile.” 

“And I’ll do it, man. What ye done this night 
convinces me you’re just the fellow I’ve been look- 
in’ for a long time back.” 

“Why not give me an ijee of it now?” 


OLD SPECIE. 


67 


‘‘Wait. It’ll keep. The pay in your pocket tells 
ye we’re in for big prices. I’ll warrant ye ain’t had 
a night’s work like that for years.” 

“Granted, Ben.” 

“Well, when we get to know each other better, 
I’ll give ye all my secrets. To-night it is.” 

“Pleasant dreams, Ben.” 

“Same to ye, Caddy.” 

They separated then and there. 

Each went a different way and were presently 
lost to sight. 

Old Specie made his way to the railroad depot. 

He found a local train would be going out in about 
fifteen minutes. 

On this he went as a passenger. 

Talking with the conductor, he discovered that 
they did not stop at Waldemere Cemetery except 
when there was a funeral aboard. 

Below was a station, Kennett, while above lay 
Blendheim. 

As to which was the closer it might puzzle one to 
decide, but the conductor was inclined to believe 
the latter place was. 

So the detective decided to get off there. 

When Kennett was called out, several persons, 
mostly laboring men, left the car. 

Others alighted from the rest of the train. 

A couple of minutes later the train slowed u‘d 
there being something on the track. 

They were opposite the cemetery. 

Old Specie saw his chance. 

He was out on the platform in a moment, took a 
look ahead, and then leaped. 

As he landed on a spft bank he received no injury, 
and saved himself quite a walk. 


68 


OLD SPECIE. 


It did not take him long to find the hedge. 

Following their course of the preceding night, he 
drew near the sepulcher. 

The hour was early. 

No one seemed to have been in the cemetery as 
yet — indeed in all probability the gates had not been 
opened. 

When he reached the vicinity of the tomb, he 
looked around him. 

Where was the young man? 

Jack Eamsay had certainly not been killed by the 
blow dealt by Ben, for he would have been lying 
here still. 

The place that knew him once did so no longer — 
he was gone. 

‘T’m glad of thaF’ muttered the detective; ‘‘he 
seemed to be a worthy young fellow^ and I should 
hate to think he had been killed. I mean to find out 
more about him in the future.” 

He little suspected while speaking, how soon he 
would be anxiously looking for this same young man. 

Having nothing else to keep him back, he turned 
toward the tomb, feeling in his pocket for his skel- 
eton keys. 

Then he suddenly stood transfixed. 

No need of the operation now, which he had been 
about to work. 

Having reached the top of the stone steps, the 
iron door of the tomb had come within range of his 
vision. 

No wonder he was thunderstruck. 

That door was ajar. 

It stood open several inches. 

Old Specie remembered distinctly the sharp clang 
that marked its closing by Ben on the previous night. 


OLD SPECIE. 


69 


As it had a spring lock, there could be no doubt as 
to it having fastened then and there. 

How was it he found it ajar now? 

Could the young man — but no, that seemed impos- 
sible, for he had no means of opening the heavy 
iron door. 

Probably, when he came to his senses, he would be 
forced to believe the whole thing an ugly dream, 
and that he had simply fallen insensible near the 
tomb of his beloved. 

But the open door — this was something that need- 
ed an explanation. 

Instead of wasting time further, the detective at 
once descended the steps. 

There he immediately discovered the secret of the 
whole affair. 

A key still hung in the lock. 

Ben Bolt had forgotten to take it with him when 
he hurried away. 

Old Specie began to suspect something, and entered 
the tomb prepared to meet with another surprise. 

He found it. 

The coffin lid was off. 

Had he been before a judge and jury he would 
have sworn that he screwed it on securely just be- 
fore they started to leave the place. 

Unless his eyes deceived him basely it had been 
tampered with. 

There on the stone floor lay the identical screw- 
driver with which they had worked. 

This also Ben had dropped when he sprang up the • 
steps at the sound of a voice addressing his compan- 
ion. 

Some one had brought it into the stone tomb and 
removed the coffin lid. 


70 


OLD SPECIE. 


Such was the haste of this party that he had not 
waited to arrange things decently. 

The detective pushed the lid aside. 

As he suspected, the coffin was empty. 

Here was a pretty kettle of fish. 

What could be done? 

Who had been here? 

Old Specie’s first suspicion went to the man with 
whom he had come here. 

Was it Ben Bolt? 

He had believed the other, deep down in his mind, 
was revolving the chances of saving the girl and 
having a future hold on his employer. 

One thing stood in his way. 

This was lack of time. 

He had parted from the other when their business 
was done. 

Since that time Old Specie had made use of every 
minute in coming out here. 

Indeed it was utterly impossible that any one could 
have reached this point quicker. 

Hence, Ben Bolt was out of the question. 

Who then? 

The young man— Jack Ramsay. 

Old Specie was at once convinced that this was the 
guilty party. 

He tried to picture it all. 

Some time after they left. Jack had probably re- 
covered his senses. 

His first act was to sit up and stare around him in 
the greatest wonder. 

How had he come here*? 

Was it all a terrible dream? 

Then suddenly it flashed upon his mind that all 
the things he recoiled from were true. 


OLD SPECIE. 


71 


No doubt he had sprung to his feet with a cry of 
horror, and made for the tomb door. 

Here the key in the lock invited him in. 

He entered. 

The coffin was fastened up, but he had discovered 
the screw-driver on the steps. 

This gave color to all his worst suspicions. 

He would not be deceived by the weight — these 
grave-yard ghouls often filled a casket with stones 
or lead to deceive. 

Perhaps he had some matches with him, and by 
the aid of these was enabled to. work. 

At any rate, he had managed to get the lid off and 
see what lay therein. 

His emotions at seeing Amy must have been 
singular indeed. 

He could not conceive that it was other than his 
Florence, even though he now found her face with 
color in it. 

Old Specie could easily imagine the poor fellow’s 
frantic joy when he discovered signs of life in the 
slender figure before him. 

What he had done then could only be left to 
imagination, for it seemed folly to believe that any 
man in his senses would have picked the girl up as 
she was, and ran off in the cool night air with her. 

Whether he had done this or not, she was cer- 
tainly gone. - 

Old Specie had no reason to doubt it. 

He believed the mystery could be explained. 

Once find Jack Ramsay, and in all probability the 
young girl would be discovered, too 

Where was he to look? 

He stood there with knit brows, pondering. 


72 


OLD SPECIE. 


If Amy’s life could only be saved, all might yet be 
well. 

He concluded his line of action. 

It took in a search of the immediate neighbor- 
hood, to see whether the young man had taken the 
girl to some cottage. 

Deciding thus, he left the coffin, and was about to 
pass out of the tomb when he halted. 

A peculiar dry cough reached his ears. 

He knew it well. 

It told him that there was fun ahead, for sly Ben 
Bolt was in the vicinity. 


CHAPTER X. 

A WONDERFUL TRANSFORMATION. 

Whatever was done must be accomplished in an 
exceedingly small space of time, for Ben was very 
close at hand. 

Quick as thought the detective partly closed the 
door, leaving it ajar and nothing more. 

He would have liked to have shut it, only he 
thought that sharp click of the lock would be sure to 
reach the other’s ears. 

So he refrained. 

Instead, he raised the lid of the coffin, and crawl- 
ing into the receptacle, pulled the lid over. A casual 
glance would reveal nothing out of the way about 
the thing. 

Of course, should Ben investigate, he might— well, 
receive a shock. 

In the next minute of time the old detective 
seemed to think of nearly everything. 

He knew he could get out if Ben locked the door 


OLD SPECIE. 


73 


and went away, so that this part of the business did 
not trouble him any. 

A skeleton key would open the door. 

His position was not very comfortable, as the 
casket was some inches too short for him. 

As he did not expect to occupy his cramped quar- 
ters long, this did not matter. 

The question was, would Ben take his key and go, 
or venture in. 

In either case the detective knew he must meet an 
emergency face to face. 

He could not conceive that Ben would come away 
out here just to hunt for his key, which he had lost. 

Some more powerful motive drew him. 

Ah ! his footfalls sounded on the stone steps. 

The suspense would soon be over. 

Old Specie could hear him muttering as he swung 
the door open. 

Then he entered. 

“Ah! it’s all right — everything safe. I can carry 
out my plan now. When I — what’s this — the screw- 
driver, and I remember dropping it as I sprang to 
hit that Ramsay. But the lid is on, and — great 
heavens, the screws are gone!” 

This fact seemed to stagger the man for about five 
seconds, during which time the detective could 
imagine him staring at the casket with horror on his 
face. 

Then suddenly the lid was torn off. 

Ben Bolt bent forward. 

The sun had just risen. 

His genial rays found an entrance through the 
open door of the tomb. 

Hence the interior was no longer wrapped in 
heavy gloom. 


74 


OLD SPECIE. 


Imagine Ben’s amazement when he saw that a 
man lay in the coffin. 

Then it was doubly intensified when he recognized 
the features of this intruder,, and looked upon his 
new comrade, Caddy Cole. 

That was a tableau worth producing. 

Old Specie lay there with his eyes rolled up, as 
though devoid of life. 

All the same, he was watching his man. 

“Great Caesar ! what does this mean? Thar must 
a-heen some pizen stuff in that licker I drank, or else 
I’m going crazy.” 

He gaped at the occupant of the coffin. 

That worthy could not resist the temptation to 
wink at him wdth one eye. 

“Caddy Cole, is this you, or am I off my base? 
Speak out, and tell me I ain’t crazy.” 

Thereupon the occupant of the silk-lined casket 
threw one leg over the edge and sat up. 

“Nothing crazy about this business, Ben. It’s me, 
just as big as life,” he said. 

The other recovered in a measure from the terri- 
ble state he had been thrown into. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. 

“Taking it easy.” 

“No nonsense — what brought you here?” 

“A train — bow’d you come?” 

The other growled. 

“See here, Caddy Cole, you played me false.” 

“Gammon! I’m in this game for all I can make, 
and so are ye.” 

“This wasn’t the hole you meant to hunt when ye 
left me.” 

“And these ain’t the pleasantest dreams you were 


OLD SPECIE. 


75 


to have, Benny, my boy. Seems to me they’re of 
the kind a nightmare’s made of.” 

“Hang it all, man, what are you up to?” 

Old Specie put one finger on his nose. 

“Ditto, Ben. What seek you here?” 

“I left something behind — the key.” 

“Very true, but that- never brought you out here. 
Truth to tell, man, you thought better of my hint, 
and decided to take it.” 

“Tain’t so,” muttered Ben. 

“I know better. I heard what ye said, too. Come, 
Ben, ye may as well own up.” 

“Where’s the gal?” 

The detective was not caught napping. 

Even in such an incredibly short space of time, 
and under such peculiar circumstances, he had de- 
cided to himself shoulder the sole responsibility for 
the disappearance of Amy. 

It was best. 

In the first place, it would keep this man from 
learning where she was. 

Then again it would give him power. 

“Do you see any green there, Ben?” pointing to 
his eye. 

“Not much, I reckon.” 

“Well, don’t take me for a fool.” 

“You know where the girl is?” 

“Certainly.’’ 

“You carried her away yourself?” 

Old Specie smiled, and that smile was as good as 
an affirmation any day. 

“Confound it, man, I don’t know what keeps me 
from shooting you at this minute and fastening you 
up in that coffin.” 

“Well, I do, several things.” . 


76 


OLD SPECIE. 


“Eh?’’ 

“In the first place, it would be dangerous.” 

“To me?” 

“To you. I’m an old adventurer, Ben, as I told 
you before. I’ve met danger in Spain, Italy, Greece, 
Turkey, Egypt, Persia, India, China and South 
America. Now, you don’t think I’m fool enough to 
sit here and let you have all the fun? The chances 
are you’d hear from this in double quick time.” 

He held up a revolver. 

Ben Bolt looked steadily at him. 

Then he shook his head. 

“Caddy, I’m disappointed in you.” 

“No, you ain’t, Ben. That’s a mistake. You mean 
that you hoped I’d work well under you. That ain’t 
my way. I’m bound to be at the top. We must 
keep along side by side.” 

“Caddy, you’ve got yer eye teeth cut.” 

“That’s true, and the sooner you realize it the bet- 
ter all around. I’m in this business now for keeps, 
and there’s room for ye.” 

“That’s generous.” 

“In the first place, Ben, I want it understood that 
I don’t care a snap for the captain, or any other man 
alive. I see a chance to make a clean haul through 
this girl, and you can just bet your ducats I’m going 
to do it.” 

Ben still looked at him earnestly. 

He seemed almost magnetized. 

It was as though the adventurer had some myste- 
rious power which he exerted over him. 

Tliis is no uncommon thing. 

Before now strong minds have taken weaker ones 
in charge and swayed them at will. 

It will always be so. 


OLD SPECIE. 


77 


“Caddy, d’ye know, I’m near takin’ ye at yer 
word, and jinin’ hands.” 

“Better do it, Ben. Ye’ll find I’m the man to sail 
with every time. Look at it reasonably. Ye don’t 
dare tell the captain I’ve gone back on him, for he 
sorter holds ye responsible for my conduct. Any- 
how, I’v got a hold, an’ I’m like a bull-dog, my grip 
never gives.” 

“Caddy, I’m with you.” 

“Shake on it.” 

Thereupon these two worthy rascals clasped 
hands and clinched their bargains. 

Old Specie hardly knew how sincere the other was 
in his professions. 

Time would tell that. 

He had to believe in him, or pretend to, at any 
rate, which was the same thing. 

“From this time on we’re chums in the business, 
eh, Ben?” 

“Chums it are, old feller.” 

“And we’ll ring it cold on that gent when he don’t 
expect it.” 

“Yes.” 

“First of all, we’ll milk him dry on the starboard 
tack, which we’re on now.” 

“I see, I see.” 

“Then, when we’ve done with him there, it’s 
come about on the port tack, and threaten him with 
this girl.” 

“He’ll kick.” 

“Let him. The harness’ll hold, an’ he can’t 
smash the cart when Caddy Cole holds the lines.” 

“Bless me if I think he will,” murmured the 
other. 

He seemed to have become more and more aston- 


78 


OLD SPECIE. 


ished at the boldness and originality of the man he 
had run across so queerly. 

There was something about the detective that at- 
tracted him. 

“Now, where’s the gal, Caddy?’’ 

The other laughed. 

“Safe.” 

“Ain’t you goin’ to tell me?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Blest if that ain’t too bad, when I’m yer chum, 
and orter share in the secret.” 

“Quite correct, Ben. We orter have no secrets 
from each other. ” 

“In course not.” 

“Then suppose ye fire away and tell me what 
ye’re keepin’ back about this here other business 
I’m to get into soon.” 

Ben started and looked keenly at him. 

“That hain’t got anything to do with what we’re 
on — it’s another lay entirely.” 

“Jest so. Well, when you see fit to take me into 
your confidence I’ll reciprocate.” 

“The devil you say.” 

“In other words, Ben, when you tell me what this 
other business is, and all about it, I’ll let ye know 
whar I’ve hid the gal.” 

Ben deliberated. 

“I don’t dare do it yet, not till I’ve got the per- 
mission of the captain.” 

“What prevents ye?” 

“My oath.” 

The other laughed. 

“You’re the last man I’d believe cared much 
about his oath.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


79 


‘‘ Tain’t that. We’ve got an ironclad agreement 
in the league.” 

“Ah!” 

“And the man that betrays a secret to an outsider 
without his, the captain’s, sanction, is doomed to a 
speedy death.” 

“Crickets! it must be as bad as the Italian Secret 
Society, or Chinese Highbinders.” 

Ben shook his head. 

“It’s an orful oath. Ye’ll see for yerself, mebbe, 
for I’m going to see the captain about lettin’ ye come 
in. Kemember, this business ain’t like the gal affair^ 
which was private with one man, while in this a 
dozen are agin ye if ye betray the league, each one 
sworn to take your life. But I won’t say any more. 
It’s enough.” 

Of course the detective understood, and was 
mightily interested, but he did not want to push 
matters too far. 

Rising up, he said : 

“At any rate, Ben, you see I’ve got the best of 
this here little game. I mean to let you into it with 
me, don’t forget that. As for that dude of the Fifth 
avenue house, if you ever tell him I’m off, and he 
tackles me about it. I’ll show him a trick I learned 
in Texas of firing from my pocket, and I warrant 
ye’ll have to find another boss for the league. Now^ 
this place are chilly and uncomfortable. Let’s 
levant, old boy.” 


80 


OLD SPECIE. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE grave-digger's COTTAGE. 

' Ben was willing. 

He had been beaten at his own game by the man 
picked up to be his comrade, for the fellow, truth to 
tell, had summoned up courage enough to come 
back with the intention of saving Amy and getting 
a secret hold on the man he called the “captain," 
and not at all to recover his key, which in fact he 
did not know was missing until he saw it protruding 
from the lock in the door. 

Once more the screws were hunted up and fas- 
tened in the now empty coffin. 

Strange scenes, indeed, this old sepulcher had wit- 
nessed within the last twelve hours — scenes that 
were almost enough to make the spirits of the old 
Dutch burghers, who for centuries, perhaps, had 
slept sealed up in the oven, like holes in the wall at 
the end of the tomb, appear upon the stage to protest 
against the desecration of a sacred place. 

At last all was done. 

This time Ben made sure of the screw-driver, and 
when he got outside took the key ere he slammed 
the door shut. 

Xo traces of their visit were left. 

They began to skirt the side of the hill, aiming for 
that friendly hole in the hedge. 

“Careful, man," warned the detective. 

“What now?" 

“I see some persons moving over yonder. We 
don’t want to be discovered. There, reckon them 
trees’ll hide *em. Come on now." 


OLD SPECIE. 


81 


They were soon outside the cemetery, and heading 
for the lower station. 

Old Specie knew Ben must have been on the same 
train with himself, and had left it at this station be- 
low, which accounted for his being ten minutes be- 
hind at the tomb. 

He did not want to speak upon the subject, for, 
naturally enough, Ben would begin to wonder how 
the other could have gotten out there so quickly, 
and going from one thing to another, would finally 
reach the conclusion — and a true one, too— that Cole 
could not have had time to carry Amy Caldwell 
away. 

When they reached the station a train was just 
coming up. 

They entered a car as the train moved off. 

Old Specie stopped for a drink of water. 

The train was gaining headway. 

Looking around a couple of minutes later, Ben 
failed to see his friend. 

Truth to tell, the detective had watched his oppor- 
tunity, and stepping out on the platform, jumped 
from the now rapidly moving car. 

He was enough of a railroader to be able to do this 
without injury. 

So, while Ben Bolt was being carried back to the 
city in rather a confused and mystified condition, 
the energetic detective was again making toward 
the cemetery. 

It was his intention to prosecute his inquiries, and 
see whether he could not get on the track of the 
person he sought. 

Surely it would have been impossible for the young 
man to have carried Amy far. 

He was no stronger, in all probability, than the de- 


82 


OLD SPECIE. 


tective, and Old Specie acknowledged that he had 
had all he wanted to do in taking the young woman 
from the hack to the sepulcher. 

Consequently, he must have sought aid and shelter 
at some house near by. 

Old Specie began to speculate. 

There was a house not far from the opening in the 
hedge — a cottage, he remembered. 

That seemed to be a likely place to get news, and 
in a short time he stood before the door. 

He gave a rap. 

A woman opened the door. 

Old Specie had altered his appearance a little, and 
now had a grave air. 

“May I ask whose cottage this is, ma’am?” he said, 
with a bow. 

“Thaddeus Stevens, the grave-digger, lives here.” 

“You are his wife?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I am a doctor — Doctor Podgers.” 

“Oh yes, sir, we ” 

“Do I understand that you have a young woman 
• here who needs attention?” 

The woman looked uneasy. 

“Well — I — that is — we have, sir,” she said. 

“Won at the first round,” muttered the detective. 

Now that she had been duped into such a confes- 
sion, the woman actually looked alarmed. 

It was plain that she had been cautioned against 
telling any one the truth. 

She feared lest she had done wrong. 

The man who called himself Doctor Podgers had 
a pleasant face; however. 

Her spirits rallied. 

“Can I see the young woman?” 


OLD SPECIE. 


83 


would rather not — that is, my husband told me 
not to let any one see her.’’ 

“But, my dear madam, a doctor — she might die 
in the meantime.” 

“Oh, I hope not. She is doing well, only out of her 
head a little.” 

“Flighty?” 

“Yes.” 

“Imagines herself some one else.” 

“What you say, sir, is true.” 

“Her name is Florence?” 

“So the young man says.” 

“And now she calls herself Amy?” 

The woman looked surprised. 

“You must be a wizard, sir, to know all these 
things,” she said. 

“Oh, no. I am a doctor in my way. When can I 
see the young woman?” 

She looked up the road. 

“They will soon be back.” 

“They?” 

“My husband and the young man.” 

“Jack Ramsay?” 

“You know him, then?” 

“Where have they gone?” 

“To the grave-yard.” 

“To examine the Caldwell tomb?” 

She became, more and more surprised. 

What she believed to be a secret was undoubtedly 
known to this man. 

Her respect grew. 

“Will you come in and wait, doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“They will not be long.” 

“I hope not.” 


84 


OLD SPECIE. 


He entered the front room of the cottage. 

Ir was evidently a parlor, and showed some signs 
of feminine taste. 

Seating himself, he looked around. 

The good woman passed through a door into a 
back room, and he could hear her talking in a low, 
soothing tone to some one. 

There was an odor of spirits of camphor in the 
house, and this agent had probably been used, with 
heartshorn or ammonia, in bringing the seemingly 
dead girl to her senses. 

Time passed slowly. 

Finally voices were heard. 

Men were approaching. 

The woman passed outside to meet them just be- 
yond the door sill. 

Old Specie heard what passed. 

“The doctor is inside, John.’^ 

“Doctor — what doctor?’’ 

“Doctor Podgers.” 

“I don’t know him.” 

“He seemed to know all about the young lady. 
Yes, he even told me she was out of her mind, and 
called herself Amy.” 

“The duse he did.” 

“I thought you had sent for him.” 

“I did not.” 

“Well, he’s here.” 

“Have you let him see the girl?” 

“I have not, Mr. Eamsay.” 

“That is just as well.” 

“We’ll soon see who he is.” 

With that they entered. 

The grave-digger was in the advance, and behind 
him came the young man whom the detective had 


OLD SPECIE. 


85 


last seen stretched out on the hard turf by a blow 
from Ben Bolt's fist. 

He arose to meet them. 

“You’re Doctor Podgers?” 

“That is the name I am known by.’^ 

“Who sent for you?” 

“No one.” 

“You just happened alone^?” 

“No, I came here with a purpose.” 

“Great Jupiter!” 

It was Jack Ramsay who spoke. 

He became suddenly excited. 

His eyes were fastened upon the pseudo doctor, 
and he stood there grinding his teeth. 

“What’s the matter?” asked the grave-digger, 
fearing lest he, too, was going out of his mind. 

“I have made a discovery.” 

“Ah!” 

“I know what purpose brought this man here.” 

“You do?” 

“Martin, he is one of the men I saw last night in 
the grave-yard.” 

“Are you sure of that?” 

“I would swear to it. He is the man who held the 
bundle which I naturally supposed was my darling’s 
body.” 

The grave-digger sprang to the door. 

He shut it with a slam. 

The key turned in the lock. 

Evidently Martin did not mean to allow their visit- 
or free passage out. 

If he gained his liberty he would have to fight for 
it. 

The “doctor” did not seem to be at all alarmed, 
but looked on smilingly. 


86 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘Wife, go into the other room.” 

“What would you do, Martin?” 

“Interview this gent. Something might be said 
that wouldn’t be right for ye to hear. Be sure and 
close the door after ye.” 

But her woman’s curiosity was aroused, and she 
held the door open just a crack. 

Perhaps she feared for her husband’s safety. 

When the woman had gone and the coast was left 
clear. Jack Eamsay advanced toward the intruder 
threateningly. 

“That was a cowardly blow your companion dealt 
me last night. Now, I’m going to have my revenge 
on you.” 

“Mr. Ramsay, go slow. Make no mistake.” 

“I make none in calling you a grave-robber and a 
dastardly scoundrel.” 

“You will repent those terms before you are half 
an hour older. ” 

“You threaten?” 

“Not at all, though I have no fear of both of you. 
I never go unarmed. But I came here to talk, not 
to fight.” 

“What is the use of words. You are a doctor. I 
have no doubt you make it a practice to steal bodies 
from grave-yards and sell them to the colleges. You 
deserve hanging.” 

“I admit that I was there last night. Reflect, sir. 
Would you have ever entered the tomb if the key 
had not been left in the door?” 

“No, I could not.” 

“Then you would never have made the discovery 
you did.” 

“That is true, but it does not mitigate your of- 


OLD SPECIE. 


87 


fense. For that you deserve a beating, and, by my 
soul, you shall have it.’’ 

He took from the wall a raw-hide whip which 
hung there for some purpose. 

The other laughed. 

‘T admire your grit, young man, but you will 
never use that whip. I came here as your friend, 
to tell you astounding facts.” 

“Is this true?” 

“You shall judge for yourself. I come to tell you 
where your dead love Florence is to be found at this 
hour.” 

The young man pointed toward the door. 

“She — why, she is in there.” 

“Not so. That lady is Miss Amy Caldwell, who 
strangely resembles your dead Florence.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

OLD SPECIE EXPLAINS. 

The young man seemed wildly excited by the de- 
tective’s words. 

His heart told him there was truth in them, and 
the hopes he had of late been cherishing faded like 
the morning mist. 

“Mr. Ramsay, I have much to tell you, but prefer 
to say it in private.” 

“Don’t trust him, sir; he sees he’s got into a trap 
and means to hoodwink ye,” blustered the stout 
young grave-digger at the door. 

Old Specie smiled. 

“Good for you, Martin. Perhaps you forget the 
little service I once did for you?” 

“What?” 


88 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘True, it's a matter of four years back, and I 
haven’t set eyes on you since, but I thought your 
wife’s face looked familiar. You remember now the 
chase along the Harlem, the canal boat on fire, and 
how we saved Emma?” 

It was astonishing to notice the change that came 
over the man’s face. 

He had been glowering at the “doctor,” as though 
ready to assault him. 

Now astonishment broke out upon his features, 
followed by glad eagerness. 

“Can I believe my ears? Bless my soul if it 
ain’t Emma, come here!” 

The door opened very quickly. 

His wife appeared. 

“Look at this gentleman again, Emma, and tell 
me, is he the man who saved you from that burning 
canal boat on the Harlem?” 

“Emma remembers my tearing the shawl that 
was on fire from her shoulders.” 

“Yes, yes, indeed I do.” 

“Do you see that hand — the scar on the back was 
a burn I received that night.” 

The woman seized his hand, looked at the scar, 
and impulsively carried it to her lips. 

“You saved my life, sir,” she murmured. 

Martin had by this time seized his other hand. 

It was a singular scene, quite a change from that 
of a few minutes before. 

“I am glad to see you again, sir, to be able to 
thank you for what ye did.” 

“There, there, Martin, never mind that now. 
Business called me away unexpectedly that time, 
and I had no chance to see you. Just now I desire 


OLD SPECIE. 


89 


to have a talk with this young man on a subject that 
concerns him deeply. You will leave us alone here.” 

“Certainly, sir. Come, Emma, we will go into 
the other room.” 

“Wait a minute. First tell Mr. Ramsay that I am 
to be trusted.” 

“Indeed, sir, I would stake me life on that.” 

A minute later Jack Ramsay found himself alone 
with the man whose peculiar relation to the case 
mystified him. 

“Now, sir, I trust you will explain the queer state- 
ment you have made.” * 

“I shall do so, in all haste. In the first place, I am 
no doctor.” 

“I suspected as much.” 

“Instead, I am a detective.” 

Ramsay started, and looked searchingly at him. 

“I am endeavoring to trace a dark mystery, and it 
brought me in contact with you.” 

“Last night, you mean?” 

“Yes. In a business such as mine, we are com- 
pelled to do strange things, adapting ourselves to 
circumstances, as it were ; so last night I had to as- 
sume, for the first time in my life, the role of a 
grave-robber.” 

The young man shuddered. 

“Florence,” he muttered. 

“Mr. Ramsay, it gives me pain to crush your 
newly aroused hopes, but I must do it. Your Flor- 
ence is indeed dead.” 

He groaned at that. 

“Then she,” pointing to the room beyond. 

“As I said before, is a young lady— an heiress, I 
believe— Amy Caldwell by name— whose uncle or 
guardian desires put out of the way. 


90 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘^As yet I have not got into the full particulars of 
the plot, but I know enough for that.’’ 

“How came she in — that casket?” 

“I put her there.” 

“You?” 

“Yes.” 

“Last night?” 

“Just before you came.” 

“Then— great Heaven!— it must have been my 
Florence you carried.” 

The detective put his hand on his arm. 

“It was, Mr. Eamsay.” 

“Sir, how dared you profane the dead? In spite 
of Martin’s friendship I am tempted ” 

“If I had not done as I did, some wretch would 
have been in my place. I allowed no one else to 
touch the body — it was carried beside me in a closed 
carriage, and treated with respect.” 

“But the thought — grave- robbers are generally 
connected with medical colleges — dissecting rooms 
— heavens ! I will go mad !’' 

“Calm yourself, sir. The robbery of the tomb was^ 
not an ordinary one. You can see that from the 
fact that while we took a dead body away we left a 
live one in its place. Resurrectionists do not do that, 
I believe.” 

“Tell me, where is— her body now?” 

“Lying in a Fifth avenue mansion, the home of 
that young lady in the next room.” 

“It sounds incredible.” 

“I do not wonder you think so.” 

“Stay — tell me the name— did you say Caldwell?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought I had heard it before.” 

‘ ‘When — where ?” 


OLD SPECIE. 


91 


‘‘It was a gentleman of that name who came and 
kindly offered the use of a sepulcher in the ceme- 
tery until we decided where Florence should be 
buried.’’ 

“A tall man?” 

“Yes, with a black mustache. He was built like 
an athlete, and very kind.” 

“That is her uncle. His arranging it that way 
was a part of the plot. I am getting a little deeper 
into it all the while,” 

“What shall I do?” 

“Be guided by me. No disrespect is intended the 
dead. This man simply means to pass the body off 
for his niece. Probably he dared not poison her out- 
right, for fear lest traces of it might be discovered, 
so he resorted to this ingenious method of deceiving 
the worthy doctors.” 

“Could that man be so cruel — why, she would 
have died in the tomb.” 

“Not necessarily. I came to save her, but found 
you had been ahead of me.” 

“But he meant it.” 

“No question about that. The man is equal to any 
evil deed.” 

The young man considered. 

“I will trust you, sir, if you promise me that Flor- 
ence will receive sacred care.” 

“I assure you.it shall be so.” 

“What can I do for you now?” 

“Answer some questions.” 

“I will.” 

“In the first place, you stood in what relation to 
the dead girl?” 

“Had she lived she would have been my wife in 
two months.” 


92 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘That was indeed sad. Tell me all about her.’’ 

“In what way?” 

“Who were her parents?” 

He shook his head. 

“ISTo one knows.” 

“How is that?” 

“Florence was taken from a foundling’s home by 
Mr. and Mrs. Green. They had no children of their 
own, and took a fancy to her.” 

“Ah! indeed. I must look that matter up later. 
Such a wonderful resemblance could not be a mere 
accident. I would not be surprised if your Florence 
turned out to be some relative of the girl who is in 
the next room — Amy Caldwell.” 

“Although the poor girl is dead and cannot profit 
by such a discovery, it would give me much pleasure 
and satisfaction to know who her parents were.” 

“You shall, if it lies in my power. The mystery 
is bound to be disclosed. It would be strange, in- 
deed, were it so, and that Florence at this hour lies 
in the home from which some cruel fate in the past 
defrauded her.” 

“Yes, indeed.” 

“When did Florence die?” 

“Two days ago.” 

“Of what disease?” 

“Something connected with the- heart. She was 
not sick, there was no wasting away, but she went 
suddenly, leaving us stunned.” 

“That was hard, indeed.” 

“The next day this gentleman called, saying he 
knew of the Greens through a friend, and wanted to 
be of some assistance. 

“Florence’s adopted parents are poor, and they 
had made no preparations. 


OLD SPECIE. 


93 


‘‘He sent around the coffin, and said it should lie 
in his family tomb until spring, when we would, 
perhaps, have decided where to bury it. 

“We thought him a friend, indeed, and could not 
but accept his generous offer. 

“Little did I suspect the deviltry he was up to. I 
would have crushed the lies back in his throat had I 
thought anything like the truth.’’ 

“Perhaps it is as well all around that you did not, 
for we would have failed to get at the bottom of 
his deviltry. 

“I feel for your natural grief at having her sacred 
body carried off in such a way, but remember, it 
was these arms that held her, and Heaven is my 
witness that in all this wide world there lives not a 
single woman who has ever been treated with want 
of respect by me. 

“Besides, her gentle spirit has fled, and only the 
earthly tenement remains.” 

“All you say is true, sir, but it does not mitigate 
my grief at all. ” 

“You will do as I say?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Then just at present breathe no word of the 
truth to a living soul.” 

“I will not.” 

“Have these good people do the same thing.” 

“Martin will easily promise you.” 

“Then I must have an interview with the young 
girl. I fear for her sanity unless she learns the 
truth.” 

“Poor girl !” 

“How has she acted?” 

“As though dazed. She repulsed my caresses, and 


94 


OLD SPECIE. 


declared her name was Amy, not Florence, and 
called upon her uncle to protect her.” 

“What did you think?” 

“I hardly knew what to believe, only that the ter- 
rible ordeal through which she had passed so re- 
cently must have turned her brain.” 

“I can understand it. Now, I would like to see 
her alone.” 

Martin and his wife came out, and they all had a 
little talk. 

Then the detective went into the other room, clos- 
ing the door after him. 

The young girl sat in a chair. 

She looked at him pitifully, as though afraid he, 
too, had come to call her Florence, and offer to caress 
her 

The detective sat down near her, and when he 
saw her troubled look smiled reassuringly. 

“You are Miss Amy Caldwell he said. 

She started into life. 

“Yes, yes, that is my name, but these people, 
whom T never saw before, have insisted on calling 
me Florence.” 

“They can be pardoned for their mistake, as you 
will know when you have heard all.” 

“Do you come from my uncle?” 

“In one way, yes. And now, collect your thoughts, 
and listen intently. Miss Amy, for I am about to 
tell you how you came here, and it will be the most 
remarkable story you ever heard.” 

Her eyes opened wide with eagerness. 

So he began. 

Everything in connection with the case that he 
knew he told. 

He saw her face show increasing signs of anima- 


OLD SPECIE. 


95 


tion and interest, and realized that she was more 
than an ordinary ^irl. 

When he had done, she voluntarily gave him her 
delicate hand. 

“What other friend have I but you, sir. Do as you 
will. I shall obey your orders.’’ 

“You are a sensible young lady. Depend upon it, 
I shall defeat these bold schemes of this uncle of 
yours, and send him where he belongs, to the State 
prison.” 

He had no further time to spend here, as he 
needed rest and recuperation in order to go on with 
the good work the next night. 

So, with a few last words to them all, he departed 
once more for the station. 

He kept a bright lookout. 

No signs of Ben Bolt were seen. 

That worthy had undoubtedly been carried to the 
city on the train. 

He would wait until night to question his new 
colleague with regard to his strange actions in jump- 
ing off the train and leaving him in the lurch. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

UNDER THE WINDOW. 

Night again. 

Once more the scene changes from the peaceful 
fields far above the Harlem River to the dens of 
Water and South streets. 

The evening was young when the detective, in his 
character of the old sailor man, walked into the 
place where he had already met with adventures, 
as narrated in previous chapters. 


96 


OLD SPECIE. 


It was the same scene he gazed upon. 

Some of the characters might have been replaced 
by new ones, but they were of the same order, and 
the change was not noticeable. 

Night after night this goes on. 

Scenes occur in these dives that would horrify 
many people, but the proprietor’s try to keep their 
noisy guests from fighting, for fear the police would 
shut the place up. 

Looking around. Old Specie failed to see the man 
he sought. 

He did not doubt that Ben would soon put in 
an appearance. 

In the meantime he found plenty to amuse him- 
self in watching those present. 

They were a motley crowd. 

Some showed all the signs of being veterans in 
sin, but there were others who were undoubtedly 
taking the first steps. 

His shrewd eve could pick them out. 

Oh ! that a friendly arm v ere present to pluck 
these brands from the burning. 

Already they were on the slippery descent, at 
whose base lay the region of Hades. 

Old Specie was thus engaged in moralizing when 
he saw his man enter. 

It was earlier than Ben had come before. 

He looked around eagerly. 

.Not seeing the one he sought — for Old Specie had 
purposely remained almost beside the door — a frown 
came upon Ben’s face. 

His name was called. 

Turning, he saw Caddy Cole. 

In another minute the two had drawn apart and 
were deeply engaged in conversation. 


OLD SPECIE. 


97 


The detective sounded his man. 

He knew how to do this to perfection. 

By this means he soon made certain that Ben had 
not said a word to his employer with reference to 
the little game being played, and which must flank 
his own. 

So far the signs were favorable. 

They indicated that Ben had decided to cast his 
anchor to windward and hold on. 

He had taken the first step against his employer, 
and must go the whole thing. 

Old Specie was disappointed about one thing. 

Ben would not reveal the secret of the league save 
to confess that it was the greatest gathering of 
counterfeiters ever gotten together. 

His — Caddy Coles’s — name was to be voted on at 
the next meeting, and if a favorable response was 
given, he would be duly installed and given the 
blood-curdling oath. 

The detective realized that this was good so far as 
it went, but he meant to better it. 

Considering the work being done, every day now 
counted seriously, and he could not seize the gold 
certificate plates, and the shrewd men who had fash- 
ioned and were handling them, any too soon to please 
the treasury officials. 

So he made up his mind, when talking with Ben, 
that he would attempt to follow him to the secret 
meeting-place that night. 

He had come prepared for this. 

Should he fail, as he had done on the other night, 
he still had a chance left, provided the league agreed 
to take him in. 

After a while, having given Ben some hints of the 
possibilities of the game they were playing, that 


98 


OLD SPECIE. 


made his small eyes glitter, and his admiration grow 
again, Caddy Cole declared he must go to keep an 
appointment. 

So he bade Ben good-evening, promising to meet 
him on the succeeding night to learn the result of 
the balloting. 

Although Old Specie went out of the place, it was 
not his intention to lose sight of his man so easily. 

He had been foiled by fate on the other occasion, 
when endeavoring to follow the counterfeiters to 
their den. 

Now he was ready for another try. 

Having come prepared for an emergency, he was 
not long in altering his looks. 

This time, when he entered the dance hall, it was 
in the guise of a Tongshor email. 

These men, under the stevedores, do most of the 
loading and unloading of vessels. 

The sailors seldom attend to that nowadays. 

Time was when they had to, but only small ves- 
sels work their men that way now. 

There were a number of ’longshoremen in the 
motley crowd assembled here. 

He was not noticed. 

A man of this class seldom has enough money in 
his pocket to tempt a rogue. 

The footpad who assailed him would probably 
have his trouble for his pains. 

Besides, they are a brawny set. 

Your ordinary ’longshoreman is generally able to 
take care of himself, except when he has too much 
whisky aboard. 

Old Specie soon sighted his man. 

Ben was quite at home. 


OLD SPECIE. 


99 


He seemed to know a great many of those who 
frequented the place. 

While watching him, the detective suddenly took 
new interest in the game. 

Why? 

A man had come up and accosted Ben. 

In spite of his. disguise, the keen eyes of the old 
treasury detective had instantly discovered the fel- 
low’s identity. 

It was Amy’s uncle, Mr. Caldwell. 

His presence here confirmed the suspicion the de- 
tective had had before. 

Undoubtedly this man was the secret head of the 
counterfeiter gang. 

He was no other than August Delmar, known to 
the fraternity as Colonel Blood. 

This being the case, the coming together of these 
two men interested him exceedingly, and he was 
curious to know what the subject of their conversa- 
tion might be. 

It would infiuence his future movements if he 
could overhear their talk. 

Watching closely, he saw them pass away from 
the boisterous throng. 

They could not talk there, and it was evident that 
a private conversation was desired. 

Without leaving the room, they found such a 
place, over near a window. 

This window opened into the back yard. 

Quick as a fiash Old Specie made this discovery, 
and then availed himself of it. 

Passing out through a door which he knew led to 
the rear of the house, he saw the window. 

It was open. 


100 


OLD SPECIE. 


Stealthily crawling along, he was soon crouching 
directly beneath it. 

Because of the noise made by the music and the 
dancers, those who talked would have to speak in 
loud tones. 

Thus he could hope to hear at least a portion of 
what was said. 

Sure enough, the result justified his suspicions in 
this line. 

Ben was speaking. 

‘T allow things is wofkin’ first rate, captain, but 
it^s wise for we uns to put by a wad for a rainy 
day,’’ he said. 

“Well, you’re doing it, Ben.” 

The reply was drowned in a more than ordinary 
burst of music and revelry. 

“Curse the racket, anyhow. Now, see here, Ben, 
what about this new man? You were saying some- 
thing of him.” 

The “new man” pricked up his ears. 

He did not want to lose a word. 

If Ben Bolt meant to betray him to the chief, this 
was the time. 

His future would be guided almost entirely by 
the other’s reply. 

“You mean Caddy Cole.” 

“Is that his name — a queer one?” 

“And he’s a queer fellow, but smart as a steel 
trap. Thar ain’t nothing he don’t know. You orter 
seen him get us out of that old tomb when the door 
snapped shut.” 

The detective grinned. 

Praise from Sir Hubert was praise indeed. 

He felt like shaking hands with himself. 

Ben did not mean to betray him. 


OLD SPECIE. 


101 


Having considered the matter over in his mind, 
Ben had concluded that he might as well be in the 
game as not, especially since the other seemed wil- 
ling to do the work. 

It was good. 

“Then, from what you know of this Cole, you 
would recommend him as a new member of the 
brotherhood, Ben?’^ 

Ben Bolt hesitated. 

“Yes,’’ he said, finally. 

“Then we’ll put him through to-night, but if you 
have the least doubt of him, go slow. You know 
what it means to get a man in who might betray 
us.” 

Again Ben’s reply was drow’ned. 

More talk followed. 

The detective caught a few sentences that were 
interesting, but did not learn anything concerning 
the hiding-place where the league met, which was 
the information he sought. 

He knew, then, that he would have to follow 
them up if he desired to gain his end. 

They made a move as if to go. 

Old Specie was back in the room before one could 
count twenoy. 

He did not mean to lose sight of his men. 

They might lead him a long chase, but he would 
get there in the end. 

As before, they made for the river, then changed 
their minds, and walked down South street. 

The hour was getting late. 

JSTot many people were abroad. 

Passing a policeman on the corner, Ben saluted 
him with a familiar laugh. 

“How are ye, Bobby?” 


102 


OLD SPECIE. 


The officer looked after the twain, and shook his 
head, as if he suspected they were after no good. 

Old Specie flitted by him like a shadow. 

At length those he pursued stopped and looked 
around cautiously, but their pursuer had flattened 
out against the side of a house. 

He saw them cross the street in the dark. 

They headed for an old pier. 

The detective remembered that it was just above 
this he had lost them on the other occasion, and he 
made up his mind that he was about to locate the 
league this time. 

With the utmost caution he followed them over to 
the river front. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A SPY ABOVE. 

The two men were already picking their way out 
on the framework. 

This dock was sadly in need of repairing, but 
through the negligence of those who should have 
seen to it, the work was delayed from month to 
month, while the condition of the stringers, piles 
and planks became worse. 

The sides were so dilapidated that a rowboat 
could pass under in a dozen places at high tide. 

Old Specie marked the dock by taking the num- 
ber, so he would know it again. 

He made his way after the men. 

None but an exceedingly active person could have 
done this undiscovered. 

All sorts of obstacles lay in the way. 

Accustomed to such work, the detective made no 
false step, calculated to betray him. 


OLD SPECIE. 


103 


The darkness was not intense, but it seemed as if 
one must be gifted with the eyes of a cat to see far 
ahead under such circumstances. 

When the two men vanished from view suddenly, 
he understood the facts of the case, and quietly 
made for the spot. 

It was as he suspected. 

A plank was loose. 

They had 'simply moved it aside, and gone down 
through the opening. 

Stooping, he put his head through. 

A light caught his eye. 

‘T thought as much. They could not make pro- 
gress here in such darkness.’’ 

He waited until it had gone from view. 

This took about five minutes. 

Then he, too, lowered himself carefully into the 
opening. 

When he found himself astride of a timber, and in 
a comfortable position, he took something out of his 
pocket. 

It proved to be a small bull’s-eye lantern. 

Then a match was struck, and in a brief space of 
time he had a means of limited illumination. 

This showed him what lay around. 

It was an uncanny sight. 

Under him flowed the black water, lapping the 
creaking piles that supported the pier. 

Around could be seen the stringers and cross- 
pieces, looking like skeleton work. 

The place was damp and slimy. 

To move along without an accident required steady 
nerve and a keen eye. 

One would hardly enjoy a splash in that black 
current below. 


104 


OLD SPECIE. 


It was not very inviting. 

Without any waste . of time, Old Specie crept along 
the timber, which he saw had been frequently used 
for a pathway. 

He met with no accident. 

Eeaching the place where solid ground appeared, 
he kept his eyes on the alert, and soon found which 
way the others had gone. 

Indeed, there was little choice. 

He came to a heavy wooden door. 

It could not be opened by ordinary means, so he 
knew he would have to pick the lock. 

His greatest fear was that some one would come 
up while he was thus engaged, and serious conse- 
quences follow* 

The time consumed was not over a couple of min- 
utes, but it seemed longer to him. 

He passed this barrier to any dock rats that might 
happen under the pier. 

Twenty feet beyond he found another door. 

This was not fastened. 

Beyond it lay the cellar of a house, cemented to 
keep out the water of the river, for this was all 
made-ground here. 

In the cellar beyond a number of men had gath- 
ered, and he could hear their voices. 

Light came under the door, too. 

He believed he had traced the foxes to their hole, 
and the thought gave him much joy. 

It was a dangerous job. 

Men would probably be coming and going, for he 
had seen three different rowboats fastened under 
the old dilapidated pier. 

To be discovered meant death, unless he could 
fight his way clear. 


OLD SPECIE. 


105 


Old Specie had no desire to die. 

He had too much business on hand. 

These desperate criminals would just as soon tie 
him over a dynamite cartridge and explode it, or 
put him in a sack with a leaden weight, to be sunk 
in the black river. 

He hoped they’ would never have such an oppor- 
tunity granted to them. 

Listening, he wondered why he did not hear the 
creaking of some machinery. 

If they were printing the wonderful gold certifi- 
cates in the second cellar, surely he should hear 
sounds to indicate it. 

In this he failed. 

It dawned upon him that after all the league or 
brotherhood might be simply the distributing asso- 
ciation. 

Not one of them beyond the captain, and perhaps 
Ben, might know where the real work was carried 
on. 

If this proved to be the case, then the detective 
had more work ahead of him. 

How was he to see into the place? 

A cautious use of his little bulTs-eye lantern 
showed him that he was in a strange den. 

Above him were rafters of some sort. 

It looked as though there had once been a floor 
some six feet or so above, and the planks had long 
since been taken away. 

He wondered whether this did not offer him a 
chance to spy upon the assembly. 

To think, with him, was to act. 

He made a leap upward, caught one of the heavy 
beams, elevated his f e^t, and in five seconds more 
straddled it, 


106 


OLD SPECIE. 


Then he worked along a few inches at a time. 

He found the planks had not been removed from 
over the second cellar. 

It was as though he were in a loft, over the lower 
part of a barn, barring the hay. 

He speedily had reason to feel glad that he had 
adopted this course. 

Light came through various crevices, for the 
planks were ill fitting and not nailed. 

Indeed, as he trusted his weight upon them, he 
realized that great care would have to be taken in 
order that those below might not receive warning of 
his presence above. 

Crawling along regardless of dust or aught else, 
he came to a crack. 

To this he immediately glued his eye. 

Men could be seen below. 

This second cellar seemed to be several feet deeper 
than the first, for there was more space between the 
cemented fioor and the timbers above than he had 
found. 

He did not know how many men there were be- 
low, as he could see only a certain number at a time, 
but making a rough guess, he judged there must be 
eight or ten. 

They moved about in little knots, talking and 
laughing in a subdued sort of way. 

Evidently the meeting was not yet on. 

Old Specie heard the door close once. 

“All here, captain,’’ said Ben Bolt. 

“Then come to order.” 

The shuffling and talking ceased. 

Looking down, Old Specie was gratified to observe 
that he was in a position to see. 


OLD SPF.CIE. 


107 


Below him the captain and Ben had taken up 
their positions. 

The former was undoing a package. 

It was not very large, and might have been car- 
ried in his pocket, yet it represented a considerable 
amount in money. 

“Call the roll, Ben.’* 

As fast as the names were given, they were writ- 
ten down by the detective. 

He was a shorthand writer of no mean merit, and 
although the meager light bothered him somewhat, 
he managed to accomplish his task in fairly good 
order. 

As each name was called, the man named stepped 
up and handed Ben a package of money in genuine 
bills, which the latter counted and gave the amount 
to the captain. 

The detective was thus enabled to jot down a brief 
description of each fellow. 

It would be very useful in apprehending the ras- 
cals later on. 

When the list was completed, the first man was 
called up again. 

Ben Bolt handed him a package of bogus bills 
that were made to look old, as though they had been 
in circulation many months, some simple process 
having accomplished this. 

“Baker, you are to go to Boston in the morning — 
take the 9 a. m. train. Report here in three nights 
for further orders.” 

“All right.” 

“Straub, you leave for Baltimore on the early 
train of the Pennsylvania, about four o’clock. There 
are two thousand in that lot. Report at the same 
time as Baker.” 


108 


OLD SPECIi:. 


‘'I will. No trouble at all working ^em off.’ 

So it went on. 

Nine men in all were called up. 

One was to work Philadelphia, another Washing- 
ton, a third Eichmond, the next Wimington, Del., 
and so on, Brooklyn and New York coming last. 

The scheme was already well developed. 

They did not believe the government had the 
slightest warning, for only a few of the wonderful 
notes had been circulated as yet. 

It had been by the merest accident in the world 
that discovery had been made — one that might not 
occur again in a hundred times. 

Meanwhile, packages would probably be gotten 
ready for sending out West to Cincinnati, Chicago, 
New Orleans, Omaha, Kansas City, and even far 
away San Francisco. 

The country would be flooded with the spurious 
notes in three months. 

Alarm would ensue. 

Indeed, a panic might follow, and the baffled gov- 
ernment withdraw the note in question absolutely 
from circulation. 

Thanks to Old Specie, this would never come to 
pass. 

Already he had the nine agents booked — name, 
description, destination, and even the train most of 
them were to take. 

Arrest would speedily follow. 

Each affair would be kept strictly secret, so that 
the newspapers might not get hold of it and destroy 
the whole business. 

In their eagerness for news, reporters have many 
a time ruined well laid plans of detectives. 

The latter flght shy of them. 


OLD SPECIE. 


109 


All these things Old Specie was running over in 
his mind as he watched and listened. 

One half his work was done. 

He would set the machinery in motion that should 
overwhelm these conspirators against the credit of 
the government. 

What he wanted to do now was to find out just 
where the press lay. 

The captain knew. 

Perhaps Ben Bolt did, too, but he was not so sure 
of this. 

Ah ! the meeting was breaking up. 

He had heard Ben propose a new member, and 
some rigmarole was gone through with in electing 
Caddy Cole. 

The detective took no interest in this now, for he 
had given up all intention of joining, since his ob- 
ject had been accomplished without. 

He wondered if he could get out in time to follow 
the captain. 

By dogging Delmar’s footsteps he believed he 
could eventually discover what he wished. 

How to do it was the question. 

Some of the men were already leaving, and if he 
could mix in with them — but no, this was too dan- 
gerous a plan. 

He already knew too much to risk losing it. 

So he waited until the last man was gone before 
he crept down, opened the door, and crawled along 
the timbers over the gurgling: water toward the 
opening in the pier. 


no 


OLD SPECIE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A SEARCH FOR THE FORGED WILL. 

When the detective left the scene of his opera- 
tions, his first act was to send his list, written out, to 
the treasury official with whom he had already had 
intercourse. 

That official of the government would know just 
what to do with it. 

Early in the morning agents would be in waiting 
at the various depots. 

Where it was more convenient, the parties might 
be saved immediate arrest, but a telegram ahead 
would have an officer in waiting to receive them 
warmly. 

Having accomplished this good work, the old de- 
tective breathed easier. 

It was only a respite. 

Presently he would be at work again, striving 
with might and main to accomplish more. 

He knew Delmar must visit the place where the 
gold certificates were made. 

If he could only get on his track. 

Passing the Fifth avenue mansion in the early 
afternoon, he had not been at all surprised to see 
crape hanging from the bell-knob. 

Upon asking at the corner who was dead, he had 
been told Miss Amy Caldwell, a wealthy young 
lady, who had died suddenly of heart trouble, and 
was found lying on the floor of her room in the 
morning. 

Of course, the detective thought, and this villain- 


OLD SPECIE. 


Ill 


ous uncle has no doubt forged a will by means of 
which he expects to inherit all. 

He meant to pay the latter a visit ere long to see 
just what he was up to. 

Reaching the house after finishing his other busi- 
ness, he saw a light in a front room above, which 
he had learned was the apartment of the man who 
ran the house. 

Evidently Delmar had come home after the meet- 
ing in the old cellar. 

When the light was extinguished Old Specie be- 
lieved his man had retired. 

He might as well do the same. 

Glancing over the house he detected a dim light 
burning in a certain room. 

That was, no doubt, where the young girl lay, 
still in death. 

He felt sober at the refiection, and thoughts of the 
strange scenes that had so recently occurred arose 
within his mind. 

Then he turned avt^ay. 

As he did so, he saw the figure of a man upon the 
opposite pavement. 

The party seemed to be looking up at the windows 
of the mansion. 

He wore no policeman’s uniform, that was cer- 
tain, but private watchmen were hired in this aristo- 
cratic neighborhood. 

This might be one. 

Old Specie, crouching in the shadow, watched. 

Presently he saw the man dodge behind a tree and 
hide there— some vehicle was coming. 

When it had passed on, the unknown again stood 
out and resumed his lonely vigil. 

Old Specie had become interested, 


112 


OLD SPECIE. 


Was this some burglar, with serious intentions 
upon the mansion? 

Windows are often left open when death lies in a 
house, and a bold burglar finds opportunities for 
plying his precarious business. 

As time slipped by, and the motionless figure 
still leaned against a tree, the detective could hold 
out no longer. 

He crossed the street. 

The man stood motionless against the tree, as 
though hoping to be unobserved. 

Stopping suddenly, the old detective put a hand 
on the other’s arm. 

“What do you want here, my man?” 

The unknown turned. 

As he did so the light fell on his face. 

“Jack Ramsay!” 

“You know me?” 

“Why, man alive, what brings you here?” 

“Who are you that asks?” 

“Your friend — you remember we had a talk re- 
cently, and arranged our plans.” 

“I recognize you now, sir.” 

“Let me repeat my question — why are you here?” 

The young man pointed across the street. 

“In yonder house lies my beloved Florence. Can 
you wonder that under the circumstances I desire 
to stay here where I may at least feast my eyes 
upon the cold stones that hide her from my view. It 
is the only consolation left me.” 

“And a poor one at that. But this must not be.” 

“Why so?” 

“Think of the living. You may ruin all my plans.” 

“How can that be?” 

-Suppose you ^re noticed here— one man at least 


OLD SPECIE. 


113 


knows you as Florence’s lover. You are not sup- 
posed to have met Miss Caldwell, so the fact of your 
hanging around here would make that cunning man 
suspect at once something was wrong.” 

“I did not think of that.” 

‘‘But you realize it now.” 

“Yes, yes. I would not put your plans in danger 
for the world. You have been kind in your sym- 
pathy, and I appreciate your efforts in behalf of 
Miss Caldwell.” 

“Then you will be guided by me?” 

“Tell me what to do.” 

“Go home and remain there. The funeral will be 
to-morrow afternoon. Change your looks as well as 
you are able, and you can see the body of Miss Flor- 
ence consigned the second time to the tomb, which I 
firmly believe and hope yet to prove is hers by 
right.” 

“I will do as you say, sir.” 

“Immediately.” 

“Without delay. Still you must understand I am 
not ashamed of having come here upon such an er- 
rand.” 

“You have no need to be.” 

They walked down the street together, and the 
detective saw Jack to a hotel, where he left him, 
the young mdn obligating himself to depart on an 
early train, and not in any way betraying his knowl- 
edge of affairs. 

He received permission from the detective to at- 
tend the funeral. 

He could be in the graye-yard at the time without 
exciting suspicion. 

Wha,t mor^ natural than that a loyer should hpye? 


114 


OLD SPECIE. 


around the tomb that held the mortal remains of his 
affianced? 

In this way he would see the coffin deposited in 
the tomb. 

Old Specie went to rest. 

With the morning he was out again, and a visit 
to the treasury official proved that things were work- 
ing beautifully. 

Some of the arrests had already been made with- 
out notoriety. 

In not a single instance had they met with trouble, 
so well managed was everything. 

So far, all went well. 

Without the knowledge of where the workshop of 
the counterfeiters was located, his labor could not 
be called finished, and it would be a grave mistake 
to close up the game with this keystone of the arch 
wanting. 

He did not mean it should be. 

Various duties consumed his time until noon. 

He found out who the undertaker was, and got 
into his favor, so that he received the privilege of 
attending the funeral as his assistant. 

Very solemn-looking the detective appeared as he 
went about his task. 

The funeral services were gone through with, a 
service read by the pastor of the church to which 
Miss Caldwell belonged. 

Then a number of carriages came to take the peo- 
ple to the train. 

At the door, as per agreement, the undertaker 
turned to his assistant. 

“Mr. Dorcas, you remain here to collect the ar- 
ticles, while I go on out with the bodyJ^ 

‘T§i7good, 


OLD SPECIE. 


115 


This was natural enough. 

Caldwell was standing close by, but he did not see 
anything suspicious about the action. 

So, when every one else had gone. Old Specie was 
left in the parlor. 

To a servant he said he was the undertaker’s as- 
sistant, and meant to wait until the wagon came for 
the various articles that had been used during the 
funeral services. 

So the maid left him bundling the camp-chairs 
together, and arranging things. 

No sooner did he find the coast clear than the de- 
tective went out into the hall. 

A piece of black thread and a fragment of speci- 
men ore, taken from a cabinet, served to make a 
first rate alarm. 

The thread was fastened across from the wall to 
the banister of the stairs leading below, and the 
weight so arranged that when the thread was 
broken it would fall into tjie hall below. 

Thus the detective was able to work and not be 
taken by surprise. 

He wanted to see into the desk that stood in the 
library. 

Perhaps he could even discover the forged will, 
granting that such an instrument existed, and he 
had little doubt on this score. 

He searched in vain. 

Each compartment likely to hold such a document 
was pried into. 

Success still mocked him. 

If the will was here, it must be in a secret com- 
partment of the desk. 

He looked for this, but could not find it. 


lie OLD SPECIE. 

The art of the cabinet-maker was too much for the 
detective. 

Beaten in one way, he would be compelled to re- 
sort to another. 

There were wheels within wheels, and a versatile 
man like Old Specie could never be at a loss as to 
the means whereby his object might be accom- 
plished. 

He put everything just as he had found it, and 
was just turning to his work when a loud thump out 
in the hall announced that one of the maids was 
coming. 

She announced that a wagon stood without. 

Soon the various traps were in the vehicle, and 
Old Specie rode away with the driver. 

This was early in the afternoon. 

At four o’clock a man ascended the steps of the 
Caldwell mansion. 

He looked very like a legal light, seeing that his 
manner was starched, his figure full of gestures as 
he talked, and he carried the green bag some law- 
yers still cling to. 

This party rang the bell. 

A maid came to the door. 

‘Ts Mr. Caldwell at hom-e?” 

“Ho, sir.” 

“Hot returned from the funeral?” 

“Ho, sir.” 

“I am a lawyer. Jenkins is my name. I have 
important business with your master in connection 
with the estate of the deceased lady. I will go in 
and wait for him. He cannot be long coming now.” 

“He told me a quarter after four.” 

‘And it is ten minutes after now. Show me into 


OLD SPECIE. 


117 


the library, please, and I will wait. He wouldn’t 
miss seeing me for worlds.” 

The girl could not refuse. 

She determined to keep an eye on the library 
until her master came, however. 

So Mr. Jenkins was shown in. 

He laid his bag on a chair with his hat and over- 
coat, neatly adi listing them. 

Then he walked up and down the room in a ner- 
vous manner, talking to himself, and making a 
thousand and one gestures, as though rehearsing a 
set speech to a jury, which he meant to be a master- 
piece. 

The door slammed. 

“Ah! he comes. Now, Old Specie, settle down to 
the task you’ve laid out,” muttered the pseudo law- 
yer. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A POINT GAINED. 

A minute later some one entered the library, toss- 
ing a pair of gloves on a table and muttering to him- 
self. 

“The devil be praised, that’s done.” 

It was Caldwell. 

He had just returned from the funeral of the 
young girl who had been buried as Amy Caldwell, 
his niece, several doctors having readily certified 
that she had died from a disease of the heart, and 
giving its medical name. 

Old Specie had not hinted the fact to young Jack 
Ramsay, but, of course, there had been a post-mor- 
tem examination to determine that fact— Caldwell 
had insisted on it. 


118 


OLD SPECIE. 


He wanted no doubts as to the cause of Amy's 
death to spring up in the future when he was enjoy- 
ing the benefit of her fortune. 

And now it was over. 

He had returned to the house — his house — without 
the shadow of remorse for the awful act he had gone 
through with. 

Some men seem to have been born without that 
useful faculty for self reproach, yclept a conscience, 
and consequently do not seem to feel remorse. 

All they think of in connection with a crime in the 
past is the danger of discovery. 

Eliminate that and they are happy. 

It is a strange world this, and it takes all manner 
of people to fill it. 

Caldwell did not seem to notice that there was 
some one in the library. 

It was dark there to him after coming from the 
bright sunshine outside. 

The detective coughed. 

Turning instantly the other stared at him, 

“Mr. Caldwell, I presume." 

“Who the duse are you?" 

“Allow me." 

He passed the other a bit of pasteboard. 

Holding it toward the light that struggled in 
through a window, he read aloud : 

“Timothy Jenkins, 

“Attorney and Counselor at Law, 

“Temple Court." 

Then he looked at the intruder. 

“A lawyer, eh?" 

“Exactly, sir." 

“May I ask your business here?" 


OLD SPECIE. 


119 


“You have had a sad business here this bright 
day, Mr. Caldwell.” 

“Very.”' 

“It must be hard for a beautiful young girl such 
as your niece was accounted by every one— it must 
be hard to close the eyes upon the world forever. In 
old people we do not have the same feelings, they 
have lived their time, and it is fit they should fall, 
but a young ” 

“Pardon me— I am tired; will you come to the 
point at once?” 

“With pleasure, Mr. Caldwell.” 

“Well, what do you want?” 

“Simply justice.” 

“Justice!” 

The man started as though alarmed. 

He had conceived a terror for that word, well 
knowing that if justice had its way with him he 
would soon feel the halter draw. 

It was not Old Specie’s intention to alarm him un- 
necessarily. 

That would be poor policy. ^ 

“I represent the heirs of Miss Caldwell.” 

“Heirs!” 

“Certainly. Did you not know she had a brother 
who for many years was supposed to have been 
dead^ Well, Julian is alive. He has telegraphed to 
me to take charge of the matter, and push his 
claims.” 

The other seemed puzzled. 

“A brother, you say?” ^ ^ 

“Yes sir, Julian Harris Caldwell, twenty- three 
years of age, and on the way here from Omaha to 
push his claims.” 

“This is news to mOt'* 


120 


OLD SPECIE. 


“You did not know she had a brother.” 

“I understood a child was lost and never found, 
but believed — yes, knew — it was a girl. I don’t 
understand where this boy comes from.” 

Old Specie had made a point. 

He believed now that Florence, the dead girl, was 
really a sister to Amy. 

If this were so, it would account for the wonder- 
ful resemblance between them. 

On no other hypothesis could he understand this 
strange thing. 

Having the clew now, he could delve deeper into 
the matter in the future. 

That was something that did not require haste, 
and he had need of all his attention in another di- 
rection. 

“You will find him a pertinent quantity, my dear 
sir, when the time comes.” 

The other did not look alarmed. 

He had made all possible allowances for any 
trouble of this sort. 

“Permit me, Mr. Jenkins, to ask what you intend 
doing in the premises?” 

The pretended lawyer struck an attitude. 

Sweeping his hand around him, as if to take in 
the richly decorated rooms, he said : 

“Surely, sir, all this is worth fighting for. My 
client is next of kin, and in the courts he must 
come in for the property. If he were out of the way, 
of course you would be the heir, but a man, you 
know, is generally more tenacious of life than a 
young girl.” 

Was there a hidden threat in his words? 

The man looked at the strange figure of the Tem^ 
pie Court lawyer for a minute, 


OLD SPECIE. 


121 


He was deliberating upon his course. 

Then he decided. 

Better to settle this question once for all. 

“What you say, Mr. Jenkins, is very good as far 
as it goes, but the trouble is it does not go far 
enough.'*’ 

“Eh?” 

“There is always a possibility in a case of this 
kind that a will may be in existence, and that up- 
sets the next of kin claim.” 

“A will!” ejaculated the lawyer. 

“That was what I said.” 

“My dear sir, it is impossible. I mean it can hardly 
be possible that such is the case.” 

“I beg to assure you that it is, however.” 

“I can hardly believe it. How do you know that 
what you state is so?” 

“From the simple reason that I have seen the 
document with my own eyes.” 

“Confusion!” 

“You doubt it still?” 

“Considering what a mess it will make of my 
client’s business, and he coming all the way from 
Omaha, too, you cannot wonder at my feeling in- 
credulous.” 

“I shall take pleasure, then, in removing this feel- 
ing from your mind.” 

He walked oyer to the desk. 

Old Specie watched him curiously. 

He had tapped that desk himself without discover- 
ing the hidden will. 

There was a secret compartment — he knew that 
for a surety. 

Caldwell bent over and placed his hand under 
the desk in a certain way. 


122 


OLD SPECIE. 


The result was speedily proven. 

A drawer opened. 

This had been hidden in a way that defied ordin- 
ary scrutiny. 

It seemed to contain a number of papers. 

One of them he selected. 

Like the rest, it was folded flat. 

Opening it, he came toward the lawyer. 

‘‘Glance at that, Mr. Jenkins.” 

He still held on to it, as though the document was 
too precious to let go out of his grasp. 

Old Specie looked at it. 

He saw a will, legally drawn up, witnessed by two 
parties, and signed with the full name of the young 
girl, Amy Caldwell. 

“That seems to settle the business.” 

‘T think so,” returned Caldwell, coolly. 

“By the way, who are these witnesses?” 

“The two girls in the house.” 

“And the date of the will?” 

“Setember 30th.” 

“This year?” 

“Yes.” 

The detective desired those points. 

He believed the will was forged. 

Of course it did not matter a particle, since the 
young girl was alive any way, but he was curious 
to know how her signature had been obtained. 

Perhaps this man had not forged it. 

He might have drugged Amy, just enough to 
cause her to pay no attention to what she was sign- 
ing, and then pasted some ordinary document over 
the blank paper to be afterward made in the form 
of a will. 

There were cunning ways of getting around the 


OLD SPECIE. 


123 


matter, and this man was just the party to know 
how to accomplish it. 

It had been done. 

That was enough. 

Old Specie now knew the man’s full plan, and 
could arrange to defeat him at it. 

He was like a general, who, having heard the re- 
ports of his scouts and spies, sits down to map out 
the plan of campaign. 

“There is nothing more for me to say, Mr. Cald- 
well. I came here in good faith, believing my client 
had a prior right, but that document, if true, seems 
to give everything to you. I have the honor of bid- 
ding you good-day, sir,” and donning his overcoat 
he departed hastily. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE WORK OF THE PRINTING PRESS. 

The detective now had a little time on his hands, 
and he devoted it to rest. 

He expected to make another night of it. 

If he could only find out the secret place where 
Delmar kept his press — the work-room of the coun- 
terfeiters — he would feel that his time had not been 
wasted. 

At nine o’clock he was on guard again in the 
vicinity of the Fifth avenue mansion. 

Where the owner went he wanted to follow, be- 
lieving that in this way only could he accomplish 
his end. 

At a quarter to ten the man came out. 

Old Specie knew his walk. 

Only for this he would in all probability have been 


124 


OLD SPECIE. 


unable to decide that it was the man, for he was 
quite effectually disguised. 

Now the fun began. 

He had to track Delmar, and a suspicious man at 
that. 

No man was better fitted for the task. 

He made it a success, and finally saw his man 
vanish in an old building. 

It was situated near the river. 

Next to it was a lumber-yard, and close by on the 
other side a brewery. 

Here they worked all night. 

Men were talking in the yard, washing beer kegs, 
and tending the fires. 

A fragrance of hops was in the air, much more 
pleasant than the usual odor one receives along 
the river front. 

Old Specie surveyed the house. 

, Some one lived in it, for Delmar had rung a bell 
and been admitted. 

Not knowing any other reason why the man 
should come here, the detective was pretty certain 
that he had treed his coon. 

He was not yet ready to knock the animal down 
to the dogs below. 

That would come later. 

He made a circuit of the house. 

In doing so he learned several things. 

There was no light to be seen in the back or front 
so far as he could see. 

The noise of the brewmry close by, lasting day and 
night, year in and year out, was a splendid thing to 
deaden any little sounds which might proceed from 
a printing press. 

On the whole, Old Specie did not see that a better 


OLD SPECIE. 


125 


choice of location could have been made for carry- 
ing on the business in hand. 

He was forced to admire the choice of the man 
who had set himself up as the enemy of the govern- 
ment. 

Another thing he learned in making this trip— -in 
the back yard they had a dog. 

The animal was tied to a kennel. 

Old Specie could only guess at his size, but he be- 
lieved him to be both large and fierce, from the 
manner in which he tugged at his chain and the 
hoarse howls he gave forth. 

Evidently the animal scented a stranger in the 
vicinity and did not like it. 

When the detective had made the circuit of the 
premises he turned his attention toward effecting 
an entrance. 

This was what he meant to do. 

It was essential that he should see the men at 
work in order to make sure of conviction. 

He crept up close to the house. 

Several windows were tried. 

The blinds were shut, and refused to open. 

He went farther. 

Looking around he found a coal hole. 

It was not a very aristocratic way of entering a 
house, but beggars dare not be choosers, and proba- 
bly in the past' this man had effected his purpose in 
j ust as primative a manner as this. 

The end justified the means. 

It very nearly always does. 

When he tried the covering of the coal hole in the 
wall of the house he found that it was secured with 
a thumb screw, which could be turned aside by in- 
serting the blade of a knife. 


126 


OLD SPECIE. 


It took him one minute to do this. 

He proceeded cautiously. 

As he slowly pushed his legs inside he kept feel- 
ing about him. 

Presently he touched the coal. 

Now his caution redoubled. 

Should he suddenly allow his weight to press upon 
the pile of small, hard coal, it would, of course, give 
way under him. 

This would result in a sudden noise, and tumble 
his air castles to the ground, for he would have to 
make bis exit more hasty than his entree, lest he 
wanted to feel the sting of a bullet. 

Worse than that would be the thought that he had 
ruined his plans. 

No wonder then he was careful. 

By degrees he found out just how the land lay 
dov/n there, and was enabled to work his way along 
withf>ut noise. 

It took him just five minutes of hard labor to ac- 
complish this. 

At length he stood upon the cellar floor. 

All around him was darkness. 

So impenetrable was this that one could not have 
seen his hand within three inches of his eyes, and 
hence it was impossible for him, once he had quitted 
the vicinity of the coal hole, to more than guess 
where it lay. 

He listened. 

There was nothing to guide him. 

Under these circumstances it became absolutely 
necessary for him to have a light. 

A match was struck. 

This showed him a door and a flight of narrow 
wooden stairs. 


OLD SPKOTE. 


127 


He had nothing to do with the latter now, but the 
former held his attention. 

What lay beyond? 

The door seemed heavy. 

It was on the side toward the brewery, and per- 
haps led to some passages once used in the under- 
ground work of the place, for all breweries have 
deep cellars, where -they keep their product cool. 

Sometimes these cellars are galleries extending 
into a hillside, and again they extend several stories 
in depth into the earth. 

Old Specie made for the door. 

Then he dropped his match and stepped on it. 

Again darkness. 

It was his best friend just now. 

The door did not seem to be fastened, though 
there was a heavy rusty bolt on the side he found 
himself first, as though at some time in the past the 
householder had deemed it expedient to close the 
door against intrusion. 

Pushing the door open, Old Specie passed on. 

He believed he was in a passage, because by ex- 
tending his hands he could touch both walls. 

They were damp. 

The ground in this region is always damp, because 
at high tide the water of the river is above the level 
of a cellar floor. 

Moving on he made a turn. 

Ah ! light ahead ! 

It came like a revelation. 

There were only sundry streaks or lances of the 
light, and he could understand that this percolated, 
as it were, through cracks in some barrier that lay 
beyond. 

Still such was the awful darkness through which 


128 


OLD SPECIE. 


lie had been groping that he rejoiced to see these, 
even as the weary pilgrim, toiling through the dark 
storm, might welcome the flashing of the sun 
through a rift above. 

Eagerly, yet cautiously, he approached. 

Looking out for a trap he Anally reached the place 
he was aiming for. 

Ifl proved to be another door. 

Whether it was fastened or not he did not know, 
nor did he try to And out. 

Voices came from beyond. 

There was also the wheezing of some machine 
slowly worked. 

Holding his breath in eagerness, the treasury de- 
tective glued his eye to the largest crack. 

It did not give him satisfaction enough. 

He took out his knife. 

The blades were as keen almost as a razor's edge. 

With this he clipped long slivers off. 

Each piece he caught and deposited in his pocket, 
as it was not his intention to betray his having been 
there by allowing them to fall to the floor, thus at- 
tracting attention when one of those beyond came 
out. 

When he was done with his peep-hole, he would 
All it up with some paper chewed into pulp for this 
same purpose. 

Trust him for that. 

How he glued his eye to the opening. 

It was good. 

He could see almost the entire place. 

It seemed to be a cellar, used at some time by a 
former proprietor of the brewery for storing certain 
things. Perhaps the secret passage was used in 


OLD SPECIE. 


129 


some way or other to defeat the government in the 
way of beer stamps. 

However that might be, it had long been closed up, 
and not used for years. 

Lights illuminated it brightly. 

A small oil stove heated it also, taking out the 
dampness, for the work done here was of a charac- 
ter that would not' stand wet. 

Two men were present. 

One was Delmar. 

The other Old Specie looked at and chuckled when 
he had a good view of his face. 

“Philip Snyder, as I live,’’ he whispered. 

The name was that of a counterfeiter who had 
given the government much trouble in the past, and 
always eluded capture. 

His work was well known, but he was like a fox, 
and could never be caught at it. 

Even now he was well disguised, having grown a 
beard, but the eyes of the detective were accus- 
tomed to penetrating beneath such things, and he 
immediately read the truth. 

“A strong combination — Delmar and Snyder — the 
two best known coney-makers in America. Jupiter! 
what luck for me !” 

This was his thought. 

He watched them a little while. ^ 

Snyder worked the press. 

He was very careful and methodical. 

Under a strong light Delmar was examining the 
bills, dried over the heat of the stove. 

He had quite a little pile beside him. 

If these men were unmolested for a month they 
could have printed an immense fortune. 


130 


OLD SPECIE. 


Where the paper came from the detective could 
not as yet guess. 

Whether it was manufactured or stolen he would 
not say. 

So far as he had examined the hill, the paper had 
seemed all right — nothing wrong there. 

It was an interesting sight to him. 

The hunter who has toiled through thickets, 
waded streams, climbed hills and descended into 
valleys in pursuit of his game, feels a thrill of satis- 
faction, when at last, creeping through the bushes, 
he sees the great moose within easy shot, uncon- 
scious of his presence. 

So, in this case, Old Specie looked upon his game 
with a feeling of exhilaration. 

He was very cautious, however. 

It would not do to disturb the workers. 

Let them keep at their unlawful labor for a little 
while longer. The awakening would come soon 
enough, and perhaps with the sudden awful clap of 
thunder. 

He would retreat now. 

In order to accomplish his work, these men must 
be apprehended singly. 

To have rushed in upon them then would have 
been a desperate measure, for both were un- 
doubtedly armed and ready to fight. 

He knew a trick worth two of that. 

Patience ! 

When a few more hours had gone by, the end 
would have been attained, and in a quiet, sportsman- 
like manner suited to his purpose 


OLD SPECIE. 


131 


CHAPTER XYIII. 

A SNEEZE AT THE WEONG TIME. 

He began to retrace his steps. 

Reaching the door that led into the cellar, he 
heard a sound behind him. 

This caused him to turn his head. 

He saw something to alarm him. 

A light had come into the passage. 

He could not see the lamp itself on account of the 
bend, but knew the person who held it was advanc- 
ing. 

Discovery now would be fatal to his plans. 

One of the men — probably Snyder, since he seemed 
to live in this old house — was advancing after him, 
possibly to get something to drink, there being no 
water in the den. 

Whatever was to be done must be accomplished 
quickly. 

Delays were dangerous. 

Knowing it would be folly to remain in the nar- 
row passage, he passed beyond the door, being care- 
ful to stop its swinging. 

Now he was in the cellar. 

To pass through the coal hole was impossible in 
such a brief space of time, except by making racket 
enough to attract attention, for once any of the coal 
was displaced, an avalanche would follow, rumbling 
down against the boards. 

What else remained? 

There were other things in the cellar, boxes and 
kegs, but the detective saw only one chance for hid- 
ing when looking around before. 


132 


OLD SPECIE. 


An old crate, used at one time for dishes, perhaps, 
stood between the coal bin and the steps. 

It had straw in it. 

A man could conceal his form in the huge barrel 
very easily, without his presence being suspected 
unless attention was drawn in that quarter by some 
sound he might make. 

To think was to act with Old Specie. 

He groped along until his hand came in contact 
with some object. 

This was the stairs. 

Farther on he went. 

The crockery hogshead came under his hand, and 
without losing any more time, for every second was 
precious, he climbed into it. 

None too soon. 

Hardly had his head gone below the level of the 
top than there was a creaking sound. 

The door opened violently. 

Light flooded the cellar. 

A man advanced. 

It was Snyder. 

In one hand he held a lamp. 

The other grasped a brown jug. 

He came into the cellar, set the lamp on a box, 
and knelt down. 

As the old crockery barrel in which the treasury 
detective crouched had no upper hoops the staves 
had fallen apart a little. 

The consequence was that there were interstices 
that offered him a good means of seeing what was 
going on in the cellar. 

He had no difficulty in ascertaining what the man 
Snyder was up to. 


OLD SPECIE. 


133 


A gurgling, spitting sound smote his ear, as of 
liquid passing through a faucet. 

The brown jug was in front of a keg. 

It evidently held beer, with which the hard-work- 
ing patriots meant to refresh themselves while labor- 
ing at their task. 

Somehow or other the gurgling sound made Old 
Specie extraordinarily dry. 

Suddenly he felt a thrill of alarm. 

He was about to betray himself. 

An uncontrollable desire to sneeze had set in. 

There was undoubtedly dust in the straw that lay 
in the barrel. 

His sudden entrance had caused this to rise, and 
entering his nostrils it had brought about this dan- 
gerous climax. 

He immediately tried to shut it off by rubbing the 
sides of his nose. 

The result was a diminutive sneeze that sounded 
between a snort and a squeak. 

He again looked through the opening between the 
staves to see if Snyder had become alarmed. 

“Scat!” exclaimed the other, striking his hands 
together with a sharp report. 

A rat actually must have run across the cellar 
floor at the time, for he immediately threw a wooden 
mallet at something. 

This let the detective down easy. 

He was not discovered. 

By this time the foam was boiling over the sides 
of the brown jug. 

Snyder had to jump after the mallet, as it was 
indispensable in shutting the stop cock of the faucet, 
and the jug ran over. 

Growling at the mess, Snyder picked up lamp and 


131 


OLD SPECIE. 


jug, pushed through the door, and was gone, leav- 
ing Old Specie alone in the dark. 

He waited a few minutes to make assurance 
doubly sure. 

Then he crawled out of the barrel. 

Making his way to the door, he opened it, and find- 
ing the passage in darkness, knew Snyder must be 
in the den beyond. 

This settled it. 

He struck a match, found the faucet, and allow- 
ing the liquid to run, washed the dust out of his 
throat, for fear it might cause him to sneeze again, 
and get him into trouble. 

After that he was ready to leave. 

He did this scientifically, taking time, so as not to 
disturb the coal pile. 

Once outside, he worked away with the strong 
blade of his knife until he actually turned the 
thumbscrew again, thus fastening the door. 

It had been remarkably well done. 

He had come and gone, leaving no trace of his 
having been in the den. 

Old Specie was wonderfully well pleased with 
himself, for no one knew better how much luck 
enters into a game. 

Many a time had he seen his work spoiled through 
the freaks of fortune. 

Some men are born lucky, and others rich. 

Of the two, the former is preferable, for riches 
have wings at times. 

Taking a last look at the house, Old Specie slipped 
up the street. 

He passed the brewery. 

The men were busy there, as though never sus- 


OLD SPECIE. 


135 


pecting how close over a powder magazine they 
labored. 

Old Specie stood and watched a few minutes. 

Then he went on. 

His work for the night was done. 

There was nothing more to keep him in this 
neighborhood. He could turn in with a clear con- 
science, and a sense of having accomplished the 
duty upon which he came. 

Thus another day came. 

It was destined to be freighted with strange 
events that involved a number of our characters, 
and brought ruin as well as victory. 

Early in the day the treasury detective was astir. 

He had business ahead. 

It was to be hoped that ere another dawn came he 
would be entitled to a good rest of several days’ 
duration, undisturbed by any new moves in the 
game. 

First of all, after breakfast, he went to the resi- 
dence of Mr. Gillam. 

Being admitted, he entered the library, and a few 
minutes later that government official made his ap- 
pearance. 

He had on a dressing-gown. 

Evidently the gentleman was not used to such 
early hours. 

At sight of the detective he came forward eagerly, 
holding out his hand. 

“Welcome, Old Specie!” warmly. 

“What news, sir?” 

“Elegant, simply elegant.” 

“All bagged?” 

“Every mother’s son of them.’^ 

“That is fine.” 


136 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘The best haul of many years. The credit is yours, 
my old friend. ” 

“Fortune favored me.” 

“I trust it will keep on.” 

“So do I.” 

“If you can only discover the place where those 
wonderful notes are made.” 

“I have done so,” quietly. 

Mr. Gillam had seated himself, but at these words 
he sprang erect in some excitement. 

“Do you really mean that?” 

“I have watched the men at work, and can lay 
my hand on both at any hour.” 

“Thank Heaven for that. This business has wor- 
ried me more than anything I know of. The whole 
outfit must be destroyed and no trace left of it. But 
few of the notes are in circulation as yet, which is 
a fortunate thing.” 

“In a week it would have been serious.” 

“I should say so, judging from the packages that 
have been turned in to me, each found on one of the 
men. You say you watched the rascals at their 
work?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Did you recognize them?” 

“I did.” 

“You hinted at Delmar.” 

“Delmar was one of the twain.” 

“Ah! he has, indeed, turned up again. It is many 
years since he worked. Where can he have been all 
the while?” 

“In your midst.” 

“Eh?” 

“I have no doubt but what you have met him so- 
cially more than once.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


137 


‘The duse you say/’ 

“Have you met a Miss Amy Caldwell?” 

“Yes, indeed, and a charming young lady, too. 
Her death was a sad one.” 

“She is not dead, sir.” 

“Why— indeed, I am sure I read of her funeral inj 
the papers.” 

“It is a long story, sir— a villainous uncle anxious 
to get the property, and Amy taken away, while 
another, who had really died of heart disease, was 
brought in her place. That uncle believes Amy 
dead, though.” 

“How in the world do you know these things?” 

“I helped take Amy away and bring the other. 
Through me, in one way, her life was saved.” 

“Wonderful man.” 

“Now, how do you like this Caldwell?” 

“He is a villain. There was always something 
about him that I disliked.” 

“You never dreamed that Caldwell was no other 
than August Delmar, the old counterfeiter, the 
Colonel Blood of the treasury department?” 

“Can it be possible?” 

“It is a fact.” 

“Well, I’m glad you’ve run him down. But you 
spoke of two.” 

“Yes.” 

“Who W4S the other?” 

“One Snvder.” 

“Not Phil Snyder?” 

“The same.” 

“Jupiter! what a combination those two men 
made— all the brains of the counterfeiters in the 
country combined there. No wonder they got out 
such a wonderful bill.” 


138 


OLD SPECIE. 


“It will be a great day when they are both under 
lock and key.’’ 

“Yes. indeed, but tell me, how is it this Caldwell 
went back to his old tricks? One would think he 
would not care to run the risk since his position was 
assured.” 

“I don’t know for certain, but I presume the old 
hankering was too much for him when he fell in 
with Snyder. He may not have had this other game 
well in hand then either.” 

“Now, what are your plans?” 

“To arrest Snyder at once at the factory.” 

“Yes.” 

“And leave Delmar until this evening for me to 
wind the net around in my own way.” 

“You deserve every consideration, my friend. 
Manage the matter to suit yourself. And now tell 
me the particulars of your night’s work.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

SNVDER AT BAY. 

The story was soon told. 

Old Specie had no time to waste now, and if there 
were particulars which he omitted, they could be- 
supplied later. 

Then he mapped out his plan for the capture of 
the man Snyder. 

This latter individual was known to be a desper- 
ate customer. 

He had escaped several times in the past by his 
boldness. 

Once he had shot down a United States deputy 
marshal who had attempted his capture, and the 
man barely recovered. 


OLD SPECIE." 


l39 


Snyder was always armed. 

Moreover, he had spent some years of his check- 
ered career in Texas. 

There he had learned to draw a revolver with 
lightning rapidity, and even shoot through the side 
pocket of a sack coat. 

Taken in all, he was a dangerous customer, and 
one to be handled with a great deal of care. 

Old Specie had no fears. 

It really tickled him to take hold of such a man 
and land him where he belonged. 

He soon had his plans arranged. 

Then he left the gentleman’s house. 

Within twenty minutes he had a man with him, 
heading for his rooms. 

This party was one whom he knew well — a deputy 
in the government service. 

He would serve the detective well. 

They soon reached the place Old Specie kept as 
his quarters when in New York. 

Here he had facilities for all disguises. 

He was an expert at this. 

Every appliance known to modern costumers was 
found here. 

This, in a measure, accounted for his wonderful 
success in deceiving those whom he was in the habit 
of hunting. 

Under the skillful manipulation of his nimble 
fingers the changes were soon made. 

He himself represented a spruce-looking citizen, 
with a book and lantern— an employe of a gas com- 
pany making his rounds to look into the state of the 
meters. 

The other— John Bailey by name— had the look 
of a genuine tramp beggar. 


140 


OLD SPECIE. 


At this time of year, when the cold waves of win- 
ter begin to sweep down from that blizzard home, 
Manitoba, the members of the tramp family forsake 
the country, and flock to the large cities. 

As long as the weather is not too inclement they 
sleep on the park benches, anywhere, in fact, and 
beg during the day. 

Finally, when the cold increases, they beg more 
energetically, so as to hire a bed in some filthy ten- 
cent lodging-house. 

Work they only do when in desperate straits. 

New York harbors thousands of this peculiar 
American institution, the tramp, each winter. 

In the early morning they crawl out of the hole 
where they have passed the night, buy an eye- 
opener of villainous liquor for a nickel, and then set 
out on their rounds. 

Many of these wretches prefer to spend a winter 
on Blackwell’s Island. 

They have themselves committed for three months 
or so, and come out in the spring fat and sleek, 
ready for a tramp. 

If the authorities adopted more energetic meas- 
ures with these fellows they would change their 
methods considerably. 

To look at Old Specie’s work, one would believe 
John to be a premium tramp. 

He had the shuffling gait, the hang-dog look, and 
the sneaking ways of a wretch who eyed every cur 
he passed suspiciously. 

They were now ready. 

Separately they issued forth. 

The tramp went flrst. 

A street car helped him on his way. 

Old Specie took a little more time. 


OLD SPECIE. 


l41 


Then he set out. 

When he drew near the neighborhood of the brew- 
ery, he kept a sharp lookout for his accomplice 
near by. 

The tramp hove in sight. 

A signal passed between the two, and they ap- 
proached the lone house. 

The tramp skirted around to the rear door, but 
here the dog met him, and set up a most tremendous 
howling. 

Nothing daunted, John climbed the fence and was 
soon at the back door. 

It was a part of his business to open this door with 
a skeleton key, and make his way into the house. 

He began operations. 

Meanwhile, when a certain time had elapsed, the 
detective was to ring the bell. 

He knew it was in good order, for Snyder had an- 
swered it on the preceding night when Delmar came. 

The specified time elapsed. 

Old Specie, looking business all over, bustled up 
and rang the bell. 

There was no answer. 

The dog howled savagely, and tore at his chain, 
but this was nothing new. He would do the same 
thing if a stray cat dared to walk along the neigh- 
boring fence. 

Again he jerked the bell. 

This time a window was raised, 

A head came out — a frowsy head that looked as 
though it had just left a pillow. 

It was Snyder. 

He looked mad. 

‘‘What d’ye want down there?” he demanded, 
supplementing it with an oath. 


142 


OLD SPECIE. 


Old Specie looked up. 

‘‘Ah! waked you at last, eh?’’ 

“Yes. Now clear out.” 

“Clear out?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

“Not much.” 

“You won’t?” 

“That ain’t my business. I’m here to get in.” 
“Then walk through the key-hole.” 

“Not this time. Come down and open the door, 
there’s a good fellow.” 

“What d’ye want, anyway?” 

The detective was playing for a little time. 

He held up the lantern and book. 

“I’m a gas man.” 

“Glad to know it.” 

“I want to examine your meter.” 

“Can’t do it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Ain’t got any in the house.” 

“Nonsense. I’ve got your number down, and 
marked defective, too.” 

“Oh, get out. Come again later, when a fellow 
ain’t sleepy.” 

“No, I was sent here to examine this meter. Are 
you going to open the door?” 

“When I find time.” 

“I’ll save you the trouble.” 

The detective had dextrously picked the lock be- 
fore he rang the bell. 

Hence he had the door really ajar at the time he 
was speaking. 

All it required was a push, and he was in the 
house. 

He heard a savage oath above. 


OLD SPECIE. 


143 


A tempest was brewing. 

Feet sounded on the stairs. 

Snyder was coming down. 

He had on his trousers and shirt, but was in his 
slipper feet. 

Looking at him, he seemed ugly. 

Old Specie met him near the foot of the stairs. 

He saw the man had a pistol in his hand. 

“Stop right where you are!” 

“Ain’t you going to let me see that meter?” 

“I tell you there ain’t any in the house.” 

“And I believe there is. If you don’t let me see. 
I’ll be back with an officer and a search warrant.” 

This staggered the man somewhat. 

“You get out of here, and go back to the place 
you came from. They’ll tell you it’s all a mistake. 
You ain’t going prowling around here if I know 
what’s what.” 

“But, my friend ” 

“Not a word!” 

<<j >; 

“Scoot, or I’ll give you a lead pill.” 

Why did not John appear behind, as he was ex- 
pected to? 

Surely there had been plenty of time for him to 
accomplish his work. 

Old Specie knew the man would not stand any 
more nonsense. 

He must pretend to obey, and whirling suddenly 
upon him, use his own revolver if it was necessary. 

“You invite trouble, sir. I shall certainly be back 
again soon, and then ” 

“Are you going?” shouted the man, for the howl- 
ing of the dog-fiend in the back yard had now 
reached a terrible pitch. 


144 


OLD SPECIE. 


The detective could not answer. 

At this moment the dog’s howls changed their 
tenor. They seemed to be filled with the exultant 
cry of a hound on the trail, and about to leap on his 
quarry. 

One thought flashed through the mind of the de- 
tective, but it was a terrible one. 

The dog had broken his chain! 

He was free. 

Poor John 1 he might have his back turned toward 
the fierce brute as he worked at the door, and 

For half a minute or so it sounded as though Bed- 
lam had broken loose. 

There arose a medley of howls, snarls and human 
oaths. 

Then came a dull report. 

A second, more penetrating, followed. 

John Bailey had fortunately succeeded in getting 
out his revolver, and the dull report of the first shot 
was accounted for in the fact that the weapon was 
undoubtedly pressed against the body of the hound. 

The result? 

Well, the dog’s snarling and yelping ceased as if 
by magic, showing that the brute must have re- 
ceived his death wound in the melee. 

The detective had wheeled at the first sound of a 
disturbance from outside. 

He feared lest this desperate man might take a 
notion to shoot him down, as he guessed the true 
state of affairs. 

Snyder seemed petrified by the sounds. 

He realized that his dog was engaged in a rough 
and tumble fight with some one, but the true na- 
ture of the affair did not seem to break in upon him 


OLD SPECIE. 


145 


until the two pistol shots were heard and the noise 
ceased. 

Then he awoke to life. 

Turning upon the other he hissed : 

“I know you now, curse you — a detective P’ 

He went to raise his weapon. 

Old Specie was at home here. 

He, too, had seen service in the Southwest, and 
could shoot from the hip in a manner that was won- 
derful, to say the least. 

A single shot sounded. 

Snyder gave a cry. 

His right arm fell helpless at his side, and the 
weapon it held dropped to the floor. 

He gave one alarmed look at the man in front, 
and then bounded up the stairs. 

Old Specie followed after, but a door was slammed 
shut,, a key turned in the lock, and he found him- 
self kept at bay. 

A voice called him below. 

Looking down the stairs he saw John. 

The latter^s clothes were more dilapidated than 
ever, and blood flowed from scratches on his hands 
and face. 

Evidently he had not come out of the affair with 
the big dog entirely whole. 

Old Specie called him up to take a hand in the 
game about to begin. 


CHAPTER XX. 

CAUGHT UP THE FLUE. 

Back of that door was a desperate man, ready to 
flght for his life. 


146 


OLD SPECIE. 


His reputation was well known. 

A tiger at bay would be about the same thing as 
Snyder. 

What was to be done? 

Their plans had miscarried, and now there was 
trouble ahead. 

No doubt Snyder had other weapons in his room — 
a revolver, knife, or a sand bag — with which he 
would attack them as soon as they made an appear- 
ance. 

Still delay was' dangerous. It gave him a chance 
to escape 

Besides, Old Specie was not the man to hold back 
when duty called, just because there was danger 
ahead of him. 

He bent down at the door. 

Again his wonderful little nippers were called into 
requisition. 

A tAvist, a turn, and the thing was done. 

The key turned in the lock. 

Now the door was unfastened. 

All that was needed was a shove to open the door 
wide. 

That was just it. 

The danger came in here. 

No doubt Snyder was standing there at bay, ready 
to shoot the very second he saw one of his enemies. 

“Ready, John?” 

“Yes.” 

It was evident that Old Specie was not to be held 
back by such doings. 

He meant to take the chances, come what might, 
and accept the result. 

“Now!” 

The door flew wide open. 


OLD SPECIE. 


147 


Into the room sprang the detective, revolver in 
hand, and his companion was not far behind him 
either. 

They fully expected to hear the report of a revol- 
ver, or at least to hear the shout of an infuriated 
man as he lunged at them with some manner of 
weapon. 

Nothing of the kind occurred. 

The room was empty. 

Old Specie sprang at once to the window, and 
looked out on the street. 

The man might have dropped from this point and 
escaped unhurt. 

Had he? 

A good view up and down the street could be 
had, and in one direction the waters of the river 
could be seen. 

Several men were hurrying from the direction of 
the brewery. 

The shots had been heard. 

Ahead of them came a police officer. 

He was almost below. 

It seemed evident that he must have seen Snyder 
in case the latter clambered out of the window and 
dropped. 

‘‘Hello! officer!’^ 

“Ah! there! what’s the row?’’ 

“I am a United States officer arresting a notori- 
ous counterfeiter. Stand guard below and allow no 
one to enter or leave the house.” 

“Very good.” 

That was a rare bit of good fortune. 

Old Specie, convinced that his man had not gone 
out this way, turned his attention to the interior of 
the room. 


148 


OLD SPECIE. 


Was there any other means of exit save by the 
open window? 

A door caught his eye. 

He sprang forward and opened it. 

A closet was revealed. 

In this it would be natural to expect to find the 
hunted criminal cowering. 

Old Specie entered it. 

He looked in vain. 

The closet contained clothing, hanging from cer- 
tain hooks, but no man. 

He searched to see whether there was any means 
of leaving the closet — a false back, for instance — but 
found no such thing. 

Again he looked around the room. 

This was strange. 

Could it be possible the man had escaped by 
means of the open window after all? 

He put out his head. 

“Officer!” 

“Hello!” 

“Where were you when the shots were fired?” 
“At the corner.” 

“By the brewery?” 

“Yes.” 

“You started this way at once?” 

“I did.” 

“And kept your eyes on this house?” 

“Well, I reckon.” 

“You could have seen a man if he climbed out of 
this window here?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you see one do it?’^ 

“Never a man.” 

“Thanks. Then he’s still here.’’ 


OLD SPECIE. 


149 


‘‘Shall I hold the door?” 

“Until I see you.” 

Once more the detective stood in the middle of the 
apartment looking around. 

He was sorely puzzled. 

Where could the man have gone? 

Ho doubt this old house had some strange hiding- 
place, but he was bound to find out the truth if he 
had to pull it to pieces . 

Could there be a trap? 

The ceiling: showed no signs of such. 

A carpet covered the floor. 

He walked around looking at this, but when the 
circuit of the room was made, he did not see that he 
was any nearer a solution of the problem than he 
had been before. 

Something must be done. 

He looked at John. 

That worthy seemed just as nonplused. 

Evidently no assistance could be expected in that 
quarter. 

Just then the detective felt that inclination to 
sneeze — the same feeling that had come near betray- 
ing him to Snyder when hiding in the old straw 
down in the cellar. 

How it was turning the tables. 

The sneeze would betray the other man to him. 

He did not attempt to repress it now, but gave 
several loud sneezes. 

Then he stepped softly forward. 

Reaching the large fireplace, he bent down and 
glanced up the flue. 

His attention had been drawn to that quarter by 
the sight of black dust in the shape of soot settling 
upon his hands. 


150 


OLD SPECIE. 


No sooner had he looked upward than he seemed 
to see something. 

Turning toward John Bailey, he put one finger on 
the side of his nose in a peculiarly suggestive man- 
ner. 

Then he carefully reached an arm up the wide- 
throated, old-fashioned flue . 

Suddenly clutching something, he gave a quick 
and powerful jerk. 

The effect was miraculous. 

There was a tremendous racket, a desperate claw- 
ing sound, a cloud of soot, and then a heavy body 
rolled out upon the floor of the apartment. 

It was a man. 

Snyder? 

Well, at first glimpse one would be apt to decide 
that this worthy must be a darkey, for his hands and 
face were black. 

Old Specie did not lose time. 

He immediately covered the fellow with his revol- 
ver, while John Bailey laughed until the tears made 
furrows down his dirty cheeks. 

“Snyder, you're my prisoner.” 

“I give up,” sullenly. 

The fight s eemed to have been taken out of the 
man in an astonishing manner by the wound he had 
received. 

Such a shock has a different effect on many people. 

Some become enraged and let nothing stand in 
their way of vengeance. 

Others are cowed, and shrink back from the 
weapon from which they have suffered. 

Snyder seemed to be of the latter class. 

Desperate man as he had the reputation of being, 


OLD SPECIE. 


151 


he no sooner felt that peculiar numbness come over 
his arm than he became actually frightened. 

His sole thought then was escape. 

So he had rushed into the room, locked the door, 
and instead of standing upon the defensive, as many 
men would have done, brave to the last, his one 
thought was flight. 

Possibly he had rushed to the window and put his 
head outside. 

Seeing the police officer hurrying to the spot, he 
had quickly changed his mind. 

Then the generous flue of ^ the chimney presented 
itself to his notice. 

Perhaps he had previously considered such a 
situation asdihis. 

At any rate he made good time in ascending it far 
enough to take his feet from observation below. 

It was a good hiding-place. 

Had there been another door to the room, through 
which it seemed possible he might have gone, no 
one would have dreamed of seeking him in such a 
place. 

As luck would have it, however, he had disturbed 
the soot and dust of ages. 

This, falling below, had fllled the room, and 
caused Old Specie to sneeze. 

He had a clew at once. 

We have seen how successfully he followed it up 
and found his man. 

He had no compassion for the fellow. 

Snyder was a bold rogue who had long defled the 
government officers. 

His operations were mainly against the govern- 
ment, and yet upon closer investigation it will be 


162 


OLD SPECIE. 


found that the goyernment never loses a cent 
through counterfeiters’ work. 

That loss falls upon the community, and every one 
who chances to have a bad piece of money passed 
upon them is a sufferer. 

Thus the poor frequently become the victims of 
these arch-conspirators. 

A government is bound to protect its issue of coin 
and currency in order to retain the confidence of its 
people. 

Hence, men who imitate that currency are severely 
dealt with. 

Old Specie bent down. 

The sharp click of a pair of steel handcuffs snap- 
ping on Snyder’s wrists told that he was to be given 
no chance to get away. 

Next, the detective took a look at his arni. 

It was bleeding some. 

The bone seemed broken. 

He bound it up rudely, which would have to serve 
until the hospital surgeons could take a look at it. 

Then leaving the man in charge of Bailey, he made 
his way to the secret cellar. 

The plates were what he sought. 

Finding these, he made a bundle of them, together 
with every scrap of paper printed and unprinted 
that he could find. 

Perhaps, when the truth was known, it would be 
disovered that there was a grand conspiracy against 
the government, for how this paper could be stolen 
when each sheet was watched so carefully seemed a 
great mystery. 

Old Specie was now through. 

He gave Bailey the package to carry, and led his 
prisoner down stairs. 


OLD SPECIE. 


153 


To the police officer he gave orders to guard the ’ 
property until he came again, as he desired to look 
around more closely. 

Then they went off. ' 

Snyder was landed in jail, but a fictitious name 
and a charge of swindling the government placed 
against him. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

CLIPPING THE tiger’s CLAWS. 

How that the bogus money-makers had been cared 
for, the government detective felt he could turn his 
full attention to the other characters in the game. 

He knew Delmar had hidden his own identity so 
well that even should he read an account of Sny- 
der’s capture in an evening paper he would have no 
fears of his own safety. 

Even Snyder did not know that his companion 
was living under the name of Caldwell in the fash- 
ionable part of the city. 

Old Specie began arranging his plans. 

He meant that this night should see the end of the 
great game. 

ATew messages were sent by wire. 

To these he received replies. 

When three in the afternoon had arrived all was 
arranged for business. 

No rehearsal was necessary, for the characters in 
the drama would have little to do outside of himself 
and Delmar. 

The latter, not being coached, would have to carry 
his part extempore. 

Thus the day waned. 


154 


OLD SPECIE. 


During the latter part of it the detective put in a 
few good hours at sleep. 

His rest was broken so much that he had fallen 
into a singular way. 

When necessary he could force himself to sleep 
even beyond ordinary hours. 

It was much after the manner of the native In- 
dian before starting upon the war-path cramming 
himself with food, because he could not be certain 
when the chance to eat would come to him again. 

When he awoke darkness lay around him. 

Old Specie heaved a sigh of relief. 

Lighting a lamp he again looked at his timepiece 
to make sure that he had not by some accident over- 
slept himself. 

Seven o’clock had been the hour at which he de- 
sired to awaken, and it lacked iust two minutes of 
that time now. 

This seemed to be another peculiarity of the won- 
derful man, who controlled the hold nature had 
upon him, like an engineer might the great machine 
he managed. 

He now proceeded to dress. 

Every appliance was at hand that one could need 
in transforming the looks of a man, and he made 
good time. 

In a few minutes it became evident that he meant 
to take a character in which he had already made 
his mark. 

Lawyer Jenkins! 

He had sent a message to Caldwell to the effect 
that he would be up between eight and nine on this 
night to have a talk upon matters connected with 
his client’s case. 


OLD SPECIE. 


155 


It might even be possible that he would bring his 
client along if that party reached town. 

From this it will be seen that Old Specie was ar- 
ranging a nice little plan of his own for the benefit 
of Caldwell. 

He meant to give the other a surprise. 

There were things connected with the latter’s life 
that the world did hot know — affairs even beyond 
the treachery he had shown toward the young girl 
known as his niece. 

Old Specie had found a clew, and believed he knew 
the circumstances under which this August Delmar 
suddenly stepped into the shoes of Lawrence Cald- 
well, Amy’s uncle. 

Thus he meant to spring a mine upon the plotter, 
and overwhelm him in the ruins. 

He dealt with a desperate man. 

No one knew this better than the detective. 

Under such circumstances he was not the one to 
let a chance slip him where he could gain a point. 

When he had completed his disguise, and was 
ready to sally forth, he selected a pair of steel brace- 
lets from a lot he had. 

These were intended for Delmar. 

He had eluded such ornaments for a long time, 
but his hour was near. 

It was now a quarter after seven. 

In five minutes the government detective was in a 
restaurant, engaged in appeasing the inner man for 
the time being. 

He did not waste much more than ten minutes in 
this occupation, when he was once more on the 
street, bound up town. 

At eight he reached the corner of Broadway and 
Fourteenth street. 


156 


OLD SPECIE. 


The electric lights of the square were gleaming 
like great planets above the trees now about desti- 
tute of foliage. 

He expected to meet some one here, and in this he 
was not disappointed. 

Two figures stood near by. 

They appeared to be a gentleman and a lady, the 
latter being heavily veiled. 

Old Specie walked up to them. 

“On time. Jack.” 

“Ah! is that you, sir. We’ve been here at least 
ten minutes,” returned the other, who was no other 
than Jack Ramsay. 

His companion we can certainly have no trouble 
in placing— everything went to prove her to be Amy 
Caldwell, the young girl who had been so treacher- 
ously dealt with by the man who claimed to be her 
uncle. 

She was now on the road to a reckoning, and ere 
another day dawned the man who had not hesitated 
to imperil her life in order to further his schemes 
would be made to see the error of his ways, and 
realize how hard is the path traveled by the trans- 
gressor. 

The detective turned to her. 

“You are feeling well, I trust. Miss Amy?” 

“Yes, indeed, sir,” she replied, cheerily. 

“And you do not fear to trust your fortunes in my 
keeping to-night?” 

“Why should I, after what you have already done 
for me? I rely upon you fully.” 

“Thank you. I promise solemnly that before 
three hours have gone by this man, who has plotted 
against you, will be in safe keeping, unmasked and 


OLD SPECIE. 


157 


beaten at his own game, while you occupy the house 
that has been your home.’^ 

“I believe you, sir.^’ 

The detective was not blind. 

He saw that Jack Ramsay had been able to par- 
tially drown his sorrow at the loss of his dead love 
Florence. 

Why not? 

Amy was her counterpart. He was positive that 
it would be easy to prove Florence the lost child 
Delmar had spoken of. 

In Amy then Jack saw his loved Florence, and it 
would be the most natural thing in the world for 
him to gradually transfer his allegiance from the 
dead to the living. 

As to Amy, she had 'evidently been greatly taken 
by Jack’s nobility of character. 

In one way* he had saved her from death in the 
awful tomb. 

The sequel was plain. 

He who ran could read it. 

Old Specie had things so regulated that he did not 
mean to waste time, so he asked the young couple to 
immediately accompany him. 

On the way he talked. 

His tone was low from habitual caution, but they 
caught every word. 

What he told was a decidedly interesting narra- 
tive, and both of his hearers listened intently to the 
strange recital. 

Then he gave them a brief outline of what he 
meant to accomplish now. 

Each one had a part to play. 

They found no difficulty in comprehending ex- 
actly what he meant to do, and their share in the 


158 


OLD SPECIE. 


grand closing scene of the exciting drama that was 
to be played for this one night only. 

Jack Ramsay was especially pleased, for he had 
conceived a terrible feeling of hatred for the uncle 
of Amy, and longed for the hour of his downfall to 
arrive. 

When the little party reached the house on Fifth 
avenue it was just at that hour when fashionable 
people were thinking of starting in their carriages 
for an entertaimnent, or a soiree at the mansion of 
a fellow member of tha select four hundred. 

Old Specie consulted his timepiece. 

It marked exactly eight forty-three. 

This was well within the hour set for his meeting 
with Caldwell. 

Glancing toward the house, he saw a light in the 
library. 

The drawing-room was dark. 

Old Specie had expected this, and indeed built 
somewhat upon it. 

Quietly he marshaled his forces upon the stone 
landing at the top of the steps. 

Amy knew every inch of space beyond that mas- 
sive door, and once it was opened she could take 
Jack quietly into the dark parlor, where they could 
await the detective’s signal, meanwhile hearing all 
that transpired. 

The detective bent over, and with his usual skill 
succeeded in opening the door without much trouble 
in about a minute’s time. 

Then Jack and Amy slipped in, and the door was 
closed without noise. 

Giving them a couple of minutes to secure a hid- 
ing-place in the parlor, the detective took hold of the 
bell, which he pulled vigorously. 


OLD SPECIE. 


159 


A servant replied. 

Undoubtedly the girl had her orders. 

She asked his name. 

When he gave that of Jenkins, the door was im- 
mediately held open. 

^‘Step into the library.” 

He proceeded to do so. 

At a glance hfe saw the room was empty. 

“Your master is not here.” 

“I’ll go up and call him. Be seated.” 

“He is expecting me?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The detective sat down. 

He heard the girl running up stairs. 

No sooner had she gone than he was on his feet, 
as if by magic. 

In the middle of the library stood a handsome 
table, upon which lay some books and current maga- 
zines. 

These were seemingly carelessly arranged, and 
yet the keen eyes of the detective noted certain facts 
in connection with the manner of their accumula- 
tion, and the presence of Caldwell’s chair just be- 
yond. 

In an instant he was bending over the table. 

His sharp eyes discovered a fact that might easily 
have escaped a less keen vision. 

There was a .drawer to the table. 

This was open a few inches. 

He drew it out farther. 

What he saw did not surprise him in the least, for 
he was prepared. 

A revolver lay within. 

The hammer was drawn back, and the deadly 


160 


OLD SPECIE. 


weapon lay in such a position that a hand thrust 
into the drawer would easily grasp it. 

Caldwell, having some secret fear of what might 
happen when the lawyer called upon him, had ar- 
ranged matters in this neat way. 

He did not mean to be caught napping. 

Old Specie knew what to do. 

Under such circumstances he was not the man to 
hesitate. 

Taking up the revolver he drew a lead pencil from 
his pocket, and with a dextrous movement punched 
the cartridges out in rapid order. 

Then he laid the weapon down just as he had 
found it, and pushed the drawer partly shut. 

Thus he had clipped the tiger’s claws. 

No danger there. 

Ah ! a step upon the stairs. 

Like a flash he turned, and when the proprietor 
of the mansion entered the library the seeming law- 
yet stood admiring a wonderful painting on the wall. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THRUST AND PARRY. 

Caldwell coughed. 

The detective turned slowly. 

“Ah! good-evening, sir.” 

“You made an engagement with me, Mr. Jen- 
kins. I gave up a visit to the theater in order to 
entertain you. ” 

“Sorry to deprive you of your entertainment, Mr. 
Caldwell, but believe me, I shall do my level best to 
make it worth your while.” 

Was there a covert threat back of this? 


OLD SPECIE. 


161 


The man of the house was eying; his visitor keenly, 
as though he saw something in the so-called Jenkins 
that puzzled him. 

‘‘Be seated, sir.’’ 

He himself sank into the chair by the table, and 
his hand began to play nervously with the hooks, 
just as the detective had expected. 

There seemed to be no reason why he should feel 
sorry for having done just what he did in order to 
effectually prevent severe measures on the part of 
the plotters. 

He sat down, facing Caldwell. 

As luck would have it, his face was in the shadow 
cast by a bronze statue on the table. 

“Now, Mr. Jenkins, suppose we proceed to busi- 
ness.” 

“Exactly, sir.” 

“I received a message from you which stated that 
you had discovered important facts connected with 
this family, and that I would find it to my advan- 
tage to be at home when you called this evening.” 

“You have stated the case with the accuracy of a 
lawyer, Mr. Caldwell.” 

“No, a lawyer would have beat around the bush 
for half an hour ere he reached a conclusion in the 
matter.” 

“You are hard on the profession.” 

“Let us drop all useless speech. Go straight at the 
matter and hi.t the bull’s-eye.” 

“That is your desire?” 

“It is. What do you want here to-night?” 

“Money.” 

“Why should I pay you money?” 

“Because accident has revealed certain secrets of 
yours to me.” 


162 


OLD SPECIE. 


The other started, and his hand played more ner- 
vously with the books on the table. 

‘‘You think you possess valuable information, 
then— is that the idea, Mr, Jenkins?’’ 

“You shall judge for yourself.” 

“What does this relate to?” 

“A certain scene in Scotland.” 

“Ah! goon.” 

“You are interested?” 

“A little. I desire to see what kind of a guess you 
might make.” 

“Accident threw me into the company of a man 
named Sandy MacGregor. Certain things he told 
me convinced me that you had a peculiar part in a 
little drama that was enacted, in a lonely mountain 
district of Scotland years ago — a strange accident 
where a man supposed to be August Del mar lost his 
life, and his companion, yourself, came near doing 
the same.” 

“What do you hint at, Jenkins—that I took the 
life of my companion?” 

“I do not believe you did — at least everything 
pointed to a terrible accident, and you yourself were 
pretty far gone when saved.” 

“Then- what do you mean?” 

“Simply this: You did not rob him of his life, but 
you stole something else — his name.” 

Caldwell gritted his teeth. 

“You speak enigmas, but proceed.” 

“Oh, I intend to. We have much to talk about 
yet. Now, regarding this strange event that hap- 
pened in the Highlands. You two were very much 
alike, and although you found yourself sorely 
wounded by the fall, you had sense enough to change 
coats with your dead friend, and when Sandy came 


OLD SPECIE. 


163 


in answer to your cries, spoke of the poor fellow as 
August Delmar and yourself as Lawrence Caldwell.” 

The man at the table laughed aloud. 

“Do you really believe this yarn which you spin 
with such a glib tongue?” 

“Wait, my dear sir. I can prove it. Among those 
who knew Lawrence Caldwell in his younger days 
it was known that he had a peculiar scar upon his 
right forearm.” * 

The other’s lip curled. 

He quietly pulled up his coat sleeve, rolled back 
his shirt sleeve, and held up the arm. 

It was marked with a scar. 

This wound looked like a burn that had been re- 
ceived many years before. 

Old Specie was filled with genuine admiration for 
the cunning rascal. 

Delmar had actually branded his arm in a way 
very similar to the burn that marked the original 
Caldwell’s arm. 

Such grit proved him to be a man who would let 
no obstacles thwart him. 

It marked him dangerous. 

“That disposes of your fine theory, my good man,” 
he sneered. 

“On the contrary, it simply declares that once 
you assumed the role of Lawrence Caldwell, you 
were determined to carry it out to the letter. It was 
a gritty thing for you to do, but I understand it all.” 

“Then you still believe I am other than I seem?” 

“Bosh! I know it. Sandy gave me a point which 
you can’t get over. He found the name Lawrence 
Caldwell pricked in the back of the dead man with 
Indian ink — the work of some sailor comrades when 
he was a boy. No doubt you were ignorant of that, 


164 


OLD SPECIE. 


or at least hoped that he had not seen it, owing to 
the hurried manner in which you had him buried.’’ 

‘‘All these things you speak of happened a good 
many years ago, my man.” 

“Very true.” 

“Such evidence could never he received in court. 
The body has long since crumbled to dust, and my 
word is worth a dozen from such as poor old Sandy, 
who could, no doubt, be induced to say black was 
white for a flask of p*ood Scotch whisky. If this is 
the great news you have in store for me the sooner 
you take your departure the better. I laugh at your 
threats. I am Lawrence Caldwell, and not a dollar 
do I pay a blackmailer.” 

“You anticipate.” 

“What?” 

“Why, your pace is too rapid. I have a little more 
to tell concerning things that have a bearing upon 
your life, man.” 

Again that gray, ashy shade crept over the fea- 
tures of the other. 

He may have seen the hand of fate hovering 
above his devoted head just then— perhaps the hand- 
writing on the wall was beginning to make its dread 
meaning legible to him. 

“Ah! you promised to make the evening interest- 
ing to me— go on, Jenkins,” he said, with a forced 
effort at appearing careless. 

“Yes, you gave up the theater for my company, 
and I feel as though I ought to supply you with the 
needed entertainment. We have all the elements of 
a first class comedy here, and you shall play the 
heavy villain.” 

“Thanks, awfully.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


165 


‘‘I myself might assume the role of the Wilkie 
Collins detective, tracing a mystery. 

‘'Perhaps the character would not be such a bad 
fit, truth to tell,’’ with a keen look into the shaded, 
imperturbable face of the man who sat opposite. 

Old Specie did not even smile. 

A chief mourner at a funeral could not have 
looked more solemn. 

“You can imply what you like, my dear sir. I 
shall neither deny nor affirm. All I say is, that I 
have promised you entertainment for this evening, 
and I shall do my level best to surprise you ere I am 
done.” 

“Go on,” sullenly. 

The man’s curiosity had undoubtedly been aroused 
by the words of his accuser, but so had his fears, 
for that matter. 

By degrees the detective meant to lead the matter 
on until the crisis was reached. 

Nothing pleased him better than thus baiting a 
man who had been long hand and glove with the 
Old Nick for deviltry. 

“I have other evidence against you that would 
tear the mask from your face in open court, and 
brand you for what you are, an impostor ; but there 
is no need of my mentioning these things now, as 
they will never be brought forward.” 

“You expect me to compromise?” 

“Never mind. I have other business to take up 
our attention now.” 

“The duse you say.” 

“Do you remember when I saw you before, we 
spoke of a child that was lost years ago— one older 
than Amy Caldwell?” 

“Yes.” 


166 


OLD SPECIE. 


‘‘Well, I told you I had heard from that child, 
that he was my client, and a man grown. I have 
come to correct that statement.’’ 

“Oh, you have.” 

“The child was a girl.” 

“Is it possible?” 

“She has been living near this place all these 
years, living in comparative poverty, while her 
younger sister rolled in wealth.” 

“That was exceedingly rough.” 

“Your tone implies doubt, but I shall remove all 
that from your mind soon. I have seen this girl, 
my dear sir.” 

“Then she is living?” 

“No, poor Florence is dead.” 

“That is sad. How is she to profit then by this re- 
markable discovery of yours?” 

“She cannot, but you look uneasy, my dear sir.” 

He was right. The man not only looked so, but 
felt decidedly so, for the mention of the dead Flor- 
ence had given him a shock. 

He began to fear that this strange Jenkins, who 
seemed to know so much, might have penetrated 
into this dead secret of his, and that his beautiful 
plans might be tumbled down like a castle of blocks 
on the nursery floor. 

“Never mind my looks. I can take care of my- 
self, and don’t you forget it. Tell me more of these 
wonderful discoveries of yours,” 

“I learned several strange things in the course of 
my researches. In the first place, you had visited 
the home of Florence before and after her death. 
You knew she had heart trouble, and was likely to 
pass away without a moment’s warning. Do you 
admit that?” 


OLD SPF.OIE. 


167 


‘‘I admit nothing, sir.’’ 

“Very good. It makes no difference in the end. 
Now I come to a point which is of a still more re- 
markable character. I refer to the sudden demise 
of Amy Caldwell.’’ 

“I am invulnerable there. I have the certificate 
of three eminent doctors to the effect that her death 
was natural.” 

“It was well planned, my dear sir, hut even 
learned doctors make mistakes.” 

“These men did not.” 

“We shall see. You showed me a will that left 
you everything. There we have a decided motive 
for the crime.” 

“Crime?” 

“Did I say that? Well, I shall stick to it.” 

“The doctors will knock you out in one round.” 

“Not so. Their certificate is good, so far as it 
goes, but the trouble with them is that they made a 
grave mistake.” 

“Explain,” with a tremor in his voice he could 
not for the life of him hide. 

“They declared Amy Caldwell dead from heart 
trouble, when^ in fact, the body upon which they 
passed judgment was that of her long lost sister, 
poor Florence.” 

The man at bay had held out remarkably well 
thus far, while terrible truths were hurled at him so 
promiscuously, but he had now reached the end of 
his tether. 


168 


OLD SPECIE. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE DANGEKOUS TEETH WERE DRAWN. 

Bending across the library table so that his glit- 
tering eyes could catch the orbs of the man who sat 
there so calm and collected, he gritted between his 
set teeth : 

“Curse you for a meddler, how much of this busi- 
ness do you know?'’ 

As cool as a cucumber. Old Specie stroked his 
chin, and quietly replied : 

“All." 

“That is impossible, unless you are the devil him- 
self ; it is impossible." 

“I lay no claim to being Satan, or possessing any 
of his attributes, but I do declare that I know cer- 
tain things connected with your life that gives me a 
good pull in this quarter." 

“Are you a wizard?" 

“Well, men have sometimes called me one, but I 
reckon all I ever learned I worked for." 

“You are a detective, then?" 

“What's the use denying it?" 

Delmar had great difficulty in repressing his emo- 
tion, for he realized now that in all probability he 
was cornered. 

One hope remained. 

He judged others by himself. 

Hence he believed every man had his price if one 
could only reach it. 

He believed that this party was working the game 
for what it was worth, and could be bought off in 
the end. 


OLD SPECIE. 


169 


After all, then, it was a mere money matter, and 
could be settled thus. 

“You spoke of Florence. Tell me distinctly what 
you know of her?’’ 

“I know that you had her body taken to the house, 
and Amy carried away in a senseless condition to 
the tomb. ” 

The astonished Delmar uttered an oath. 

“Will you tell'me how you know this?” 

“Do you remember a man Ben Bolt brought with 
him to assist in the work?” 

“The old sailor?” 

“Yes— Caddy Cole.” 

“Then he betrayed us, fiends take him. It was he 
who told you this.” 

“Worse than that.” 

“How worse?” 

“I had the honor to he Caddy Cole myself.” 

Delmar fell back in his chair. 

He could only glare at the other. 

Specks of froth seemed to gather in the corners of 
his mouth, as though he were near the stage when 
madness comes stalking upon the scene in all its 
hideousness. 

It had been bad enough before, but now seemed 
infinitely worse. 

A minute passed. 

Then in a measure he recovered his coolness, and 
with an effort again faced the inevitable, glaring at 
the wonderful man who seemed to be so dextrously 
casting the web about him. 

“You have taken me by surprise, and stormed my 
outpost. I see no way in which the fortress can be 
saved. Nothing remains but capitulation. What 
are the terms?” 


170 


OLI> SPECIE. 


“The same as Grant’s at Donelson.” 

“What?” 

‘ ‘Unconditional surrender. ’ ’ 

“But you have a price.” 

“Where would you put it?” 

“Would ten thousand do the business?” 

“Double it.” 

“I will do so.” 

“Now treble that.” 

“Confusion! man, I cannot. Let me think before 
you decide. It would ruin me. That means sixty 
thousand dollars.” 

“It is all the same. I would not take it.” 

“You will not be bought?” 

“My price is above your reach.” 

“What do you intend to do?” 

Little by little the shapely white hand of the ad- 
venturer steals toward the jiartly open drawer of the 
library table. Old Specie sees it, but makes no move 
to betray the fact. 

He knows full well what is coming, and even 
takes inward delight in the confusion that must 
naturally overwhelm the other when the denoue- 
ment comes and leaves him stranded. 

“I mean to drive a hard bargain with you, my in- 
teresting schemer, or hunt you down to your fate. 
Already you suspect that my engagement with Ben 
Bolt was not in the nature of an accident, and in 
that you believe truly.” 

“You sought him out?” he gasps, and the moving 
hand has now reached the drawer. 

“I did. You may guess my motive when I tell you 
who I am.” 

“Yes, I am anxious to know.” 

“We have met before, Augujst Delmar.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


171 


‘‘That name!’' he ejaculates in a breath, his hlaz-i 
ing eyes never once leaving the face of the pre- 
tended lawyer, his fingers all the while creeping on 
toward the revolver that lies hidden in the open 
drawer. 

“In years gone by you knew me as Old Specie, the 
watch-dog of the treasury." 

A cry as from a mad dog follows the mention of 
that hated name. There is no longer need of playing 
’possum, for he knows the man before him could not 
be bought off from his line of duty by any fortune. 

The arm makes a sudden move, and the hand 
comes into view — it clutches the cocked revolver, 
which, without a second’s delay, is leveled at the de- 
tective’s head. 

Into the face of the cornered conspirator there 
flashes a terrible look— it is the murderous glow that 
illumines the countenance of the assassin as he be- 
holds his victim helpless beneath his knife, and feels 
that the last desperate play throws the game to him. 

“You’ve had your turn, Old Specie — now it’s my 
deal. You refuse to make terms with me — we shall 
see if you can negotiate a treaty with your master, 
the devil, into whose august presence I mean to 
usher you before many minutes have flown.’’ 

“Heavens! man, would you murder me?’’ calls 
out the detective, in mock alarm. ^ 

“No, but I will kill you, all the same. It’s war to , 
the knife between us, and I’m on top. Move but a 
hand and you hasten your doom.’’ 

“Are you sure?’’ 

“I am a dead shot. I can drive a nail across this 
room. When I fire I will aim for your eye, so as to 
give you as little pain as possible.’’ 

“How considerate,” murmurs the other. 


172 


OLD SPECIE. 


“You have no escape.” 

“Give me time to say my prayers?” 

“I will.” 

“A thousand thanks. They are long. I shall be 
three hours in saying them, as I have so much on 
my soul to confess.” 

“You shall have five minutes. At the end of that 
time the clock strikes nine, and as the last stroke 
sounds you die.” 

“Look here, man, you are mad. How will you ac- 
count for this terrible thing?” 

“Let me alone for that. I will create a story of 
blackmail. Discharge your revolver twice, with a 
wound for myself, and fasten the weapon in your 
stiffening hand. 1 am known and respected, so my 
word will be taken. You see, you have walked into 
a trap, my good man. There is no one to blame but 
yourself. Are you ready?” 

“The time is not yet up.” 

“But a minute remains.” 

“You have no mercy?” 

“As well appeal to the stone Sphinx.” 

“Very well. I shall remember that.” 

“What are you about?” 

Old Specie, as if bent on defying the law laid 
down by the other, had put one hand into his pocket, 
but as he does not draw a weapon the man in power 
does not fire. 

Instead his curiosity is aroused. 

The detective seems to be jingling something in 
his hand, and the sound strikes a cold chill to the 
heart of the counterfeiter. 

In reply Old Specie holds up the objects he has 
been rattling. 

They prove to be a pair of steel handcuffs. 


OLD SPECIE. 


173 


“Perdition!'’ breaks from Delmar, as his eyes fall 
upon these suggestive bracelets, “did you fetch 
those here for me?” 

“I did.” 

“Then you made a big mistake. The man does not 
live who is to run down an old fox like me. Ah 1 lis- 
ten, the clock is about to strike — your time has 
come!” 

Sure enough, a musical chime sounds as of a sil- 
very bell inside the costly timepiece. 

Nine o’clock has come. 

With it, to all appearances, has arrived the doom 
of the daring treasury watch-dog. 

Standing erect he folds his arms, and coolly sur- 
veys the man across the table, who keeps him cov- 
ered with the revolver. 

Quickly the chime strikes. 

Nine is reached. 

With the last stroke the arm of August Delmar be- 
comes a trifle more rigid, his eyes glow with scin- 
tillating fire, and setting his teeth together he 
presses the trigger of the revolver, which is held on 
a direct line with the other’s head. 

There is a snap— the hammer descends upon an 
empty chamber, and no report follows. 

Uttering a baffled cry, Delmar hastily jerks the 
hammer back again, and once more repeats the ex- 
periment, but with the same result. 

A third time he makes the attempt, and now a 
wild look begins to appear on his face, for into his 
guilty heart there shoots a spasm of fear that all is 
not as it should be. 

The third attempt, like those preceding it, turns 
out to be a dismal failure, and despair seizes upon 
the would-be assassin. 


174 


OLD SPECIE. 


Old Specie has stood all this while with his arms 
folded across his breast, as though looking grim 
death in the face. 

Now his arms separate, and, strange to say, in 
one hand is clasped a small revolver. 

The foiled counterfeiter, seeing that the control of 
the game has been snatched from his hands, sinks 
into his chair. 

“You have won, Old Specie, but what in the 
fiend’s name is the matter with my revolver? That 
is the first time it ever failed me,” he says, in a tone 
half of bewilderment, half of despair. 

The detective smiles, and resumes his seat, this 
time where he can watch his man and note every 
move with the keen eye of a lynx. 

“I have become a dentist, Delmar. Before you ap- 
peared upon the scene I bewitched your faithful lit- 
tle repeater, and rendered its jaws quite harmless 
by drawing every tooth.” 

“Ah ! I see. Fool that I was not to be here.” 

“It would not have mattered. There are other 
ways of accomplishing the same thing. I’m not the 
man to be beaten when I undertake a job like this, 
and you know it.” 

“What do you want me for?” 

“Snyder is safely caged. 

“The devil he is!” 

“And you are badly wanted. I have your precious 
plates secure. Why, man alive, in a month you 
would have created a panic.” 

“Another case of a slip betwixt cup and lip, then, 
for the panic just now is here,” smiting his broad 
breast viciously with his fist. 

“That is not all, though.” 

“Indeed! What else am I wanted for?” 


OLD SPECIE. 


175 


‘‘Can you not guess?’’ 

“How should I?” 

“Murder.” 

“Nonsense! that is all bosh,” but as he speaks he 
turns deadly pale, and his slender white fingers 
work convulsively at his throat, as though some- 
thing were choking him. 

“You forget that I was with Ben Bolt.” 

“That affair— then I am undone, indeed,” and he 
looked about him, not as one seeking a means of es- 
cape, but as though he would find some means of 
ending his desperate career. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

HOW IT WAS DONE. 

The wretched man finds no solace. 

He has been run to earth, and even the privilege 
of taking his own life seems denied. 

Again he faces his tormentor, and with a last 
great effort endeavors to appear calm. 

“You know all about that affair, then, old man, 
and as you participated in it, you will be held re- 
sponsible in part for the girl's death.” 

“Well put, Delmar. Listen to me now. The game 
has reached a point where there is no longer need 
of my deceiving you. You are in the trap. Escape 
is impossible,, and before an hour goes by you will 
be in a cell adjoining your comrade, Snyder.” 

“Then he is really caught?” 

“I attended to that myself. Where do you think 
the fellow hid himself? Up a chimney, and I had 
to pull him down by the leg.” 

“Then you have something to tell me in connec- 


176 


OLD SPECIE. 


tion with the other case. I have a dim idea that you 
did not allow my plan to mature. Amy is not dead.’’ 

He speaks eagerly now. 

Seeing that he is cornered, it means a great deal to 
him if he can escape the fate of a murderer, and 
such a hope has suddenly sprung up within his 
breast. 

There is something in the detective’s manner that 
makes him conceive this idea, and he cherishes it 
fondly. 

Old Specie cannot help seeing what a change has 
come over the spirit of his dream, but he somehow 
feels like tormenting his victim a little ere telling 
him the truth. 

Delmar was without mercy a few minutes before, 
when he thought he held the handles of the plow, 
so the detective rubs it in. 

“You gave Miss Caldwell a drug?” he says. 

“Yes.” 

“Were you familiar with its working?” 

“I was not.” 

“Where did you get it?” 

“There is a man on the Bowery known to the gen- 
eral public as Doctor Bonaparte.” 

“I have heard of him, and believe the fellow to be 
as unscrupulous as he is cunning.” 

“You are right there. He gouged me heavily for 
the little vial of liquid. I might have done as well 
with chloroform, but his stuff gave out no odor, and 
was guaranteed to make one look like dead for 
many hours.” 

“You had directions, of course?” 

“Yes.” 

“Did you follow them to the letter?” 


OLD SPECIE. 


177 


The man at bay moves uneasily, and his hand 
trembles as it seeks his chin. 

‘T don’t know. I am not sure,” he falters. 

“Ah ! I thought as much. What did he tell you to 
do — how much to give?” 

“Either ten drops or twenty— I could not say for 
the life of me.” 

“And you gave^-: — ” 

“Twenty,” with a groan. 

“Exactly. What he told you, no doubt, was that 
ten was a dose and twenty a deadly one.” 

“No, no.” 

“You wanted to be sure.” 

“I believed Amy would die in the tomb anyway, 
and I could not run the risk of her coming to while 
on the way there.” 

“That accounts for it.” 

“You went back after leaving Ben?” 

“I did — in the morning.” 

“Tell me — when you opened the casket— did you 
find Amy alive?” 

The man’s utterance has become thick now, and 
excitement causes him to tremble as with the ague, 
in spite of his self control. 

Much is at stake with him. He has lived for years 
as a gentleman, and always had the tastes of one, 
so that a public death on the gallows has more ter- 
rors for August Delmar than such a fate would have 
for an ordinary criminal. 

Not that he lacks grit— he has shown that on other 
occasions, but the sudden collapse of all his schemes 
seems to have utterly overwhelmed the man now. 

“What I found in the casket was no living being,” 
says the detective, and Delmar fails to see there is a 


178 


OLD SPECIE. 


double construction here— he takes the words liter- 
ally. 

Again a hollow groan breaks from his lips, and he 
seems utterly dejected. 

“Then I’m in for it. I suppose I must stand the 
racket like a man, but it comes hard. The worst of 
it is the girl does not live to benefit by my downfall. 
That is cruel.” 

“While I was in the tomb, who should come 
upon the scene but Ben Bolt.” 

“Ha! bent on the same errand as yourself?” 

“Exactly. I heard him cough, and guessed his 
identity before he came in sight. An idea seized 
upon me. The lid of the casket was loose. I man- 
aged to work my length into the box, and drew the 
lid over me. 

“Presently Ben came in, made some remark at 
finding the lid loose, and pulled it off. You can 
imagine his astonishment at seeing me. 

“We had a pleasant chat, and I gave him his 
orders, for he soon realized that I was his leader, and 
had him well in hand. 

“It was arranged between us that we should de- 
ceive you, and when the time ^ came demand a big 
price for silence in the matter.” 

While the detective speaks, a light appears on the 
face of the man in the toils, a cunning look that 
tells of a new-born hope. 

“Ah! you got into the coffin yourself?” 

“Yes.” 

Old Specie knows what is coming, but he does not 
betray the fact, desiring that the other shall get all 
the glory out of it he can. 

“You pulled the lid over you?” 

“So I said.” 


OLD SPECIE. ' 


179 


“All this was done in a hurry?’’ 

“Without five seconds’ thought. Ben was too 
close at hand to admit of it.” 

“Tell me, then, how came the casket to be empty. 
Where was the body you put in it in place of Flor- 
ence?” 

Triumphantly he shoots this question at the 
amused detective, who smiles. 

“I knew you had your mind set on that, Delmar. 
Your suspicions are well founded. In reply to your 
question I said that I found nothing living in the 
casket, nor did I, for it was empty when I arrived.” 

“Empty?” 

“Yes, some one had been before me, and rescued 
Amy Caldwell.” 

“Ben?” 

“No, he believes to this hour that I have her hid- 
den away, ready to produce when we agree the time 
is ripe to tackle you.” 

“Then who could it be?” 

“Did he tell you of our trip?” 

“Yes.” 

“The encounter with a young man named Jack 
Kamsay in the cemetery, whom Ben knocked sense- 
less when we rushed away, I carrying the form of 
Florence in my arms?” 

“He even detailed that event.” 

“When Jack recovered his senses his first thought 
was with regard to Florence. He wondered if what 
he had seen could have been a terrible dream. So 
he plunged into the tomb— Ben had left the key in 
the door— and opened the casket. 

“He found one whom he took to be his Florence 
there, and was wild with delight to discover signs 
of life in the lovely face. 


180 


OLD SPECm. 


‘‘So he carried Amy to the cabin of a grave-dig- 
ger, where I afterward found her, alive and doing 
well.’’ 

“Thank Heaven for that. How that my downfall 
is assured, I would not harm the girl. Besides, I 
had already begun to feel the constriction around 
my throat — the shadow of the hangman’s noose — 
and a dused unpleasant sensation it is, I honestly 
assure you.” 

“Let’s go over the ground again, Delmar. You 
admit being an impostor?” 

“I suppose I’ll have to, though I might make a 
fight for it if it wasn’t that I’m a goner in the money 
business. When I appear in court, and the eyes of 
the country are on me, there will be many to recog- 
nize Colonel Blood.” 

“Yes, you can rest assured of that. Your career 
has been too notorious, taken in all, for a private 
scheme to succeed. We will not prosecute on that 
subject— you will get all the years you can stand as 
Delmar, the prince of counterfeiters.” 

“How about my plot against Miss Caldwell?” 

“That will have to be ventilated, because those 
who attended her funeral will be surprised to see 
her alive in the fiesh.” 

“You will have trouble explaining it.” 

“Hot at all. We shall cause it to be known that 
the funeral was that of her sister, Florence, and 
though folks may talk a little at first, they will soon 
understand that it was a cunning game of the bogus 
uncle to get a fortune. Time will bring forgetful- 
ness.” 

“This is a merry ending to my career of check- 
ered vicissitudes of fortune. I presume I will get 
twenty years by the government.” 


OLD SPECIE. 


181 


‘‘The treasury authorities dare not let such a man 
as you loose upon the community again. You can 
count on ending your days in prison.” 

“A gloomy lookout.” 

“Yes, but you took those chances.” 

“And if there was one shot in this revolver of 
mine I’d cheat the government of its revenge. 
Curses on the luck .that leaves me helpless.” 

As he speaks thus he looks around with the desper- 
ate air of a man who has lost his last hope, and 
whose sole ambition lies in the chance of self-de- 
struction. 

Old Specie does not intend that his prey shall es- 
cape him thus. He has gone too far to allow Del- 
mar to slip through his fingers. 

Gliding around the table, with a dextrous move- 
ment, acquired from long practice, he suddenly 
snaps the steel bracelets over the wrists of the coun- 
terfeiter, who starts as he hears the sharp sound 
and feels the chilly contact of the steel upon his 
flesh. 

“How, my good fellow, make up your mind to 
the inevitable, and appear cheerful. I have a lit- 
tle surprise in store for you.” 

Delmar hardly hears, his mind is so fully occu- 
pied with machinations, but, strange to say, they 
are no longer against some other person’s life, but 
his own. 

Old Specie calls aloud : 

“Jack — Amy, enter!” 

The door leading to the drawing-room is imme- 
diately thrown open, and Jack Ramsay stalks into 
the room — not alone, for he holds the hand of a fair 
young girl, the counterpart of his dead Florence — 
Amy Caldwell. 


182 


OLD SPECIE. 


The baffled adventurer is roused into something 
like life by their coming. He gives the man only a 
passing glance, but his eyes rest eagerly on the fair 
face of the girl. 

‘'Yes, it is Amy, alive and well. I thank kind 
Heaven that in my downfall I do not have her death 
on my hands. I have been engaged in many ques- 
tionable enterprises in my time, but I have never 
taken life. That much is spared me. Forgive me, 
girl. My love for power and money ran away with 
my better nature. You will not see me again, so do 
not cherish hard feelings. A man who is crushed 
as I am deserves some pity.’’ 

This from the proud man who had lorded it these 
years as Lawrence Caldwell — it proves how utterly 
he has fallen. 

He appears to take it philosophically now, and the 
detective begins to believe he means to make no fur- 
ther trouble. 

Here he errs — any one may do that. The man’s 
mind is made up, and he plays his cards skillfully 
with that one ultimate end in view — self-destruc- 
tion. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE END OF THE TRAIL. 

Amy says nothing to the man who has been de- 
feated in his plots against her life, but her gentle 
nature is averse to hatred, and the look upon her 
face tells that she does not cherish ill feelings 
toward August Helmar. 

In his role of her uncle he has always treated her 
with consideration — perhaps because he lived in 


OLD SPECIE. 


183 


part upon her bounty— and she remembers this noAv. 
Jack Ramsay finds it harder to forp^ive. 

He remembers all that has happened, and takes 
solid satisfaction in the thought that this man must 
now meet his deserts. 

Delmar leans against the mantel. 

His face is sullen and dejected, as though earth 
has lost all beauty for him. 

In such a frame of mind a man can welcome 
death as a boon. 

Old Specie does not like his manner, and grows 
uneasy over it, feeling that he must get his man to 
a place of security soon, or something may happen. 

He speaks a few words to Amy and Jack, and his 
eye is taken from the desperate counterfeiter only 
five seconds, but that is time enough for August 
Delmar. 

One of his hands touches the mantel. He has had 
his eye upon the cartridges, whicli the detecti^^e 
placed there after taking them from the revolver, 
for some time. 

He takes but a single cartridge, and that is hidden 
in the palm of his hand, but its possession gives him 
a thrill of joy, for he now sees a Avay clear to cheat 
the government out of the impending revenge. 

‘‘There are a few things I should like to gather to- 
gether, sir— papers of value to me. Can you give me 
five minutes, and then my body will be at your dis- 
posal.” 

“Be as speedy as you can,” replies the old treas- 
ury watch-dog, who does not like the ugly look in 
the prisoner’s eyes. 

“A thousand thanks.” 

Saying this, Delmar strides over again to the table 


184 


OLD SPECIE. 


in the middle of the room, and sits down in the 
chair facing it. 

As his hands are fastened together with a short 
chain, he is compelled to put both of them into the 
drawer, where lies the empty and useless revolver. 

But is it useless? 

While the man struggles to maintain his compos- 
ure, he manages to slip the deadly cartridge which 
he has abstracted from the mantel into a chamber of 
the cylinder, and then with the hammer at half- 
cock, whirls this latter around until the copper head 
is in view to the left. 

Old Specie has let his gaze wander to the mantel, 
as a suspicion enters his brain. He sees the line of 
cartridges there, and is once more quieted, when 
like a shot, he notes the fact that there are only 
four of them, where he certainly placed five. 

Perhaps one has fallen behind the rest. He 
springs forward to ascertain this fact, and has just 
grasped the truth when Delmar, in his haste to rise, 
upsets his chair. 

“Good-by, all.’’ 

“Hold, madman!” 

The detective roars these words, Amy shrieks, and 
Jack makes a move as though he would spring for- 
ward and stay that rash hand. 

Too late. 

The dull, sickening report of a revolver discharged 
at short range is heard. Delmar whirls around, and 
falls like a log to the floor, where he lies motionless, 
dead before his head touches the carpet. 

“Jupiter! she’s fainted!” ejaculates the young 
man, who has turned just in time to catch Miss 
Caldwell’s swaying figure. 

Old Specie is chagrined at having been outwitted, 


OLD SPECIE. 


185 


but he keeps his senses. The living must be at- 
tended to before the dead. 

‘"Lift her up, and carry her up stairs. I will lead 
the way, Jack.’’ 

As he says this he leaves the library. 

It is not the first time Jack Ramsay has held the 
form of Amy Caldwell in his arms, and he obeys the 
directions of his chief, so that soon the young lady 
is lying upon a bed, and a maid at her side. 

Seeing that she is slowly recovering consciousness, 
the two men go below, and once more enter the fa- 
tal library. 

Delmar has not moved. He will never move 
again in this world. 

He lies flat upon his back, with his arms upon his 
breast, and the revolver with which the shot was 
fired clasped by the right hand, the fingers of 
which were rigid. 

It is an awful sight, and Jack, being unaccus- 
tomed to such scenes, shudders as he gazes upon the 
blood-stained carpet, while Old Specie even looks 
grave. 

Death by violence always possesses double the 
terror that ordinarily accompanies a visitation of 
the grim monster. 

Of course in one sense it makes no difference to the 
detective — dead or alive, it is all the same to him so 
long as he delivers the body of the notorious Del- 
mar over to the United States authorities— his re- 
ward is sure. 

On the whole, knowing the dismal future in store 
for this man, should he have lived to face the judge. 
Old Specie does not think Delmar so much of a fool 
in ending it all. 

‘•What’s to be done?’’ asks Jack, who has become 


186 


OLD SPECIE. 


somewhat bewildered — he is not accustomed to 
scenes such as this. 

“The coroner must be notified. You will be re- 
quired to give your evidence, and then the whole 
thing is done. Here, I will give you his address 
now. He can hurry it through.’’ 

So it happens that at twenty minutes after nine 
Jack Ramsay is chasing down Fifth avenue after a 
coroner, whom he finds in due course of time, and 
brings back with him to the mansion of death. 

A jury is summoned. The coroner knows just 
where his men are to be found, and at midnight he 
is hearing evidence. 

The whole story is not told. Old Specie does not 
see the need of that. Enough information is im- 
parted to prove that Delmar was an impostor, and 
that he took his own life. 

Then the jury decide the matter, and the 
strangers file out of the house. 

An undertaker next arrives. The body is placed 
in a box after being embalmed, for Old Specie does 
not know how long it may have to be kept in evi- 
dence. All traces of the late tragedy are removed, 
and when morning comes everything is quiet about 
the house. 

The detective’s trail is done, and he feels he has 
earned a period of rest, though there is no telling 
how long this may last, for at almost any hour he 
may receive a telegram ordering him to California 
or Texas after some rogues at work there. 

Jack has found a few hours’ sleep on the lounge. 
He feels as though he must remain as a sort of 
guardian over Amy, for although not one word of 
love has yet passed between these two, they under- 


OLD SPECIE. 


187 


stand each other, and the future holds much that is 
bright and joyous for them in common. 

It seems perfectly natural for Jack to transfer his 
love from the dead to the living, for Amy will always 
seem Florence to him. 

With the new day the government detective has- 
tens to the house of the official to whom he makes 
his report, and when Mr. Gillam hears what he has 
accomplished, he squeezes the hand of Old Specie 
most heartily. 

It is a wonderful piece of work. The whole gang 
have been taken in the trap, besides the dangerous 
instruments with which they did their work — the 
marvelous plates— so that the treasury officials have 
no further cause for alarm on account of the bogus 
gold certificates. 

Compliments pour in on the detective, but he does 
not mind them, going about his work as though it 
were an every day occurrence to gather in such a 
nest of rogues. 

Delmar is buried. Amy sees to it that he is de- 
cently interred in a cemetery, for he has always 
been kind to her up to the time of his awful plot. 

The legal proceedings against Snyder and the gang 
are put through with a rush, and they receive va- 
rious sentences, from fifteen years down to five, ac- 
cording to their merit. 

It is a clean sweep. ITone are left to form a nucleus 
for a new hi^e. Even Ben Bolt goes in for eight 
years, and is greatly taken aback to learn during 
the trial that the man he had taken such a fancy to, 
the old sailor man, Caddy Cole, was no other than 
the detective who had devoted his energies to run- 
ning the gang to earth. 

The trial is not advertised extensively, for the 


188 


OLD SPECIE. 


government is not in the habit of doing these 
things for show. 

Thus the general public know only the bare out- 
line facts, and do not dream of what sensations 
underlie them, for your true detective avoids noto- 
riety when he can, realizing that it is bad for his 
business. 

A few of those most interested are given the facts 
in the case, and they know why it is Amy Cald- 
well is alive when it was supposed they attended 
her funeral some time ago. 

She is so well beloved, however, that every one is 
glad of the truth. 

Jack makes many visits to the city now, and it 
would not take a very deep mind to figure out the 
inevitable result. 

As Amy looks upon him as the preserver of her 
life, she has a great debt of gratitude to pay, as well 
as love, so that the end must assuredly be the wed- 
ding bells. 

What more can we say? 

The old detective serves the government to-day 
just as faithfully as before, and at the present writ- 
ing has just closed a desperate case down in Ten- 
nessee, where some men had banded together and 
worked against the welfare of the government. 

As in his previous cases, Old Specie has landed 
his men behind the bars. 

He well deserves the name he has won, for cer- 
tainly he has proved himself to be the faithful 
watch-dog of the treasury, and the government au- 
thorities depend upon him to ward off the attacks of 
cunning rogues who would plunder the people’s 
bank. 

The memory of August Delmar will always re- 


OLD SPECIE. 


189 


main A\ith him, for the tragic events connected with 
that adventurer’s downfall come into his mind at 
times when he is in a reflective mood. 

When his thoughts turn to Jack and Amy he finds 
more pleasure in his day dreams, for there fate has 
crowned his work with true love, and the world has 
become brighter in two pairs of eyes since they met. 

We can only sincerely trust that the future holds 
much that is pleasant for the brave detective, who 
never yet hesitated to meet peril when duty called, 
and to whom the honest citizen owes much for the 
confidence with which he handles the paper money 
now in circulation, for without such watch-dogs of 
the treasury the country would long since have been 
flooded by spurious notes, printed by such cunning 
men as August Delmar, the counterfeiter. 

[the end.] 


‘‘DETECTIVE BOB BRIDGERJ’ by R. M. 
Taylor, will be published in the next number (34) 
of The Secret Service Series. 


THE 

MERRY-MAKER 

ALMANAC. 


MAILED FREE TO AITY ADDRESS, 


Very Comic--Full of Pictures. 


Will Drive the Bines out of a Bag 
of Indigo. 


Be sure to send for t'iiis. Write your 
name on a postal card and mall tlie same 
to us, and receive tills Almanac FREE. 
Address, 

STR}ilET & SMITH, Pulilishers, 

31 Rose Street, New York, 


Jm Secret Service Series 

(S ^, S ,) 

Comprises the Best Detective, Stories by thb Best Authors. 

Issued Monthly. PRICE 25 CENTS EACH. FuUy rilustrateu. 

This series is enjoying a larger sale than any similar series ever 
published. None but American Authors are represented on our iistj and 
the Books are all Copyrig’hted^ and can be had only in the SECRET 
SERVICE SERIES. Bound in Handsome Litliograpk Covers. 


LATEST ISSUES: 

No. 29-THE POKER KING, by Marliue Manly. 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, by Edwin S. Beane. 

No. 27-THE REVENUE BETECTIYE, by Police Captain 
James. 

No. 2G-UNBER HIS THUMB, by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 25 -THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, by Ned Bunlline. 
No. 24 -THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, by Leauder P. 
Richardson. 


No. 23 
No. 22 
No. 21 
No. 20- 
No. 19 
No. 18- 
No. 17 
No. 16- 

No. 15 
No. 14- 
No. 13- 
No. 12- 
No. 11- 
No. 10- 
No. 9- 
No. 8- 
No. 7- 
No. 6- 
No. 5- 
No. 4- 
No. 3- 

No. 2- 
No. 1- 


-A MYSTEIilOUS CASE, by K. F. Hill. 

-THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland. 

-THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter. 

-THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, by K. F. Hill. 
-THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor. 

-A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter. 

THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter. 
-THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. 
Cobb. 

TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor. 

THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, by Old Hutch.” 

-DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauffer. 

-THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray. 

THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by Geo. W. Goode. 
OLD MORTALITY, by Young Baxter. 

LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Cai)tain James. 

THE CHOSEN MAN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

OLD STONE WALL, by Judson R. Taylor. 

THE MASKED DETECTIVE, by Judson R. Taylor, 

THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. HiU. 

YAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by ^^Old 
x'^liuth.” 

BRUCE ANGELO, by ^^Old Sleuth.” 

BRANT ADAMS, by ^^Oid Sleuth.” 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, 
25 cents each, by the Publishers, STKEET & SMITH, 26-Sl Hose Street, New York. 


OF 


POPULAR AMERICAN COPYRIGHT NOVELS, 

BY NOTABLE AUTHORS. 


HNTO. 4:. 


m 

..iiu 


T nn 
• b 


[SilTHOFLW; 


on, 


THE WEAVER’S WAR. 


By PROFESSOR WM. HENRY PECK, 


AUTHOR OF 


“Marlin Marduke,” “£15,000 Reward,” “Siballa, 
the Sorceress,” etc. 


From the very opening paragraph this powerful and intensely exciting 
romance enchains the attention and keeps curiosity constantly active. The 
scene opens in the manufacturing center of Lyons, during a troublesome 
period in her history, when the laboring classes strove to maintain their 
rights against the nobility. The hero, whom fate has made an humble 
workman, finds opportunity for the display of those self-asserting qualities, 
which always force their possessor to the front in every contest. While 
most of the action is thrilling and dramatic, a captivating love episode is 
adroitly interwoven with the main thread of the romance. The mystery 
appertaining to the early life of the Locksmith, the appalling accnsation 
which makes him the victim of unseen foes, his fortitude in the most trying 
positions, and his final vindication and reward, are forcibly and sympatheti- 
cally set forth in this well constructed story. 


FlilCE, 2o CICNTS 


STREET & SMITH, Publisbers, 

F. O. Box, 2734. SI ROSE STREET, New York. 


BEN HAMED; 

OR, 

THE CHILDREN OF FATE. 


By STLVANUS COBB, Jr. 

Stre8t& Smith’s Sea and Shore Series, No. 8. 

Q3 Ooxxtjs. 


WHAT THE PRESS SAY OF IT. 


•‘Ben Hained” Is an Oriental romance by Sylvanns Cobb, wbicb recalls 
the deliglitlul stories of the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural 
erfects. Indeed, our old frieml Haroun A1 Raschid figures prominently in 
this work, and is closelj'^ identified with the hero and heroine— the devoted 
Assad and the fair Morgiaua. It is a romance of pure love, with an in- 
genious and cleverly sustained plot.— Grand Eapicls Democrat, Aug. 

“Ben Hamed” is the title of an Oriental romance not unlike the stories of 
the “Arabian Nights.” It is a romance of pure love. A number of strong 
characters combine with the hero and heroine in the solution of an ingenious 
Harrisburg Patriot, July 26. 

Street & Smith of New York have published “Ben Hamed; or. The Chil- 
dren of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., which is No. 8 of the Sea and Shore 
Series. This book is an Oriental romance, which recalls the “Arabian 
Nights,” without their supernatural effects. The plot is ingenious and well 
sustained, and brings out a romance of pure love in a charming manner.— 
^Saii Francisco Morning Call, July 21. 

“Ben Hamed” is an Oriental romance by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr., published in 
paper by Street & Smith, New York city. It is clever in the way that all of 
Cobb’s stories are clever . — Indianapolis News, July 20. 


“Ben Hamed is a capital story, progressive in action, interesting from 
the opening line, and with a charming love romance, on which are strung 
many remarkable incidents . — Acton i>tar, July 21. 

A eaT.ltal story of Eastern life, which must have been suggested by a 
perusal of the “Arabian Nights,” is Sylvanus Cobb’s Oriental narrative of 
“Ben Hamed; or. The Children of Fate.” It is admirablj' told, fullof in- 
terest, and cannot fail to charm all who begin its perusal. — iffowf ana 
Sun, Sept. 22. 

Street * Smith, of the New York Weekly, have published “Ben 
Hamed; or. The Children of Fate,” by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. This is an 
Oricntfil roniaiicG, accentuated by a vei*y strong and ingenious plot. SL 
Paul Pioneer Press, July 21. 

Street & Smith, New York, publish in paper covers “Ben Hamed.” an 
Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, which recalls the delightful stories of 
the “Arabian Nights,” without their supernatural effects.” — Cmcmnatt 


Enquirer, 

“Ben Hamed.” an Oriental romance, by Sylvanus Cobb, is published by 
Street & Smith, New York. It is one of Cobb’s characteristic romances, 
Haroun A1 Raschid being a prominmit figure. There is nothing strained or 
mfnatural in “Ben Hamed,” it recainiig the stories of the “Arabian Nights, 
without their supernatural effects . — Minneapolis Triune, July 21, 


Sea and Shore Series 


Stories of Strange Adventure Afloat and Ashore. 


Issued lonMy. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. Fully Instrated 


The above-named series is issued in clear, large type, uniform in size with 
“The Select Series,” and will consist of the most thrilling and 
ingeniously constructed stories, by popular and experienced writers in the 
field of fiction. The following books are now ready : 

No. 17— FEDOR A, foniidod on the famous play of the same name^ 
hy Victorieii Sardou. 

No. IG-SIBALLA, THE SORCERESS, hy Prof. Wm. H. Peck. 
No. 15-THE GOLDEN EAGLE, hy Sylvaims Cohh, Jr. 

No. 11-THE FORTUNE-! ELLER OF NEW ORLEANS, hy 
Prof. Wm. Henry Peck. 

No. IS-TIIE IRISH MONTE CRISTO ABROAD, hy Alex. 
Rohertson, M. D. 

Vo. 12— HELD FOR RANSOM, hy Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11-THE IRISH MONTE CRISTO’S SEARCH, hy Alex. 
Rohertson, M. D. 

No. 10— LA TOSCA, from the celebrated play, hy Victorien 
Sardou. 

No. 9— THE MAN IN BLUE, hy Mary A. Denison. 

No. 8— BEN HAMED, hy Sylvanus Cohh, Jr. 

No. 7-CONFESSIONS OF LINSKA. 

No. 6-THE MASKED LADY, hy Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 5— THEODORA, from the celebrated play, hy Tictorien 
Sardou. 

No. 4-THE LOCKSMITH OF LYONS, hy Prof. Wm. 
Henry Peck. 

No. 3-THE BROWN PRINCESS, hy Mrs. M. Y. Victor. 

No. 2-THE SILVER SHIP, hy Lenis Leon. 

No. 1-AN IRISH MONTE CRISTO. 


•For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, POSTAGE 
FREE, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of price, 
25 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P. 0 . BOX 2734, 25-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK. 


The Log Cabin Library. 


Issued Every Thursday. Price, 10 Cents Each. 


No. oS-COOXSKlN, THE SCOUT, by Duke Cuyler. 

No. 52 — UAZZLE-DAZZIjE DICK, l)v Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 51-JENME, THE TELEOUAIMI OPERATOR, by R. M. Taylor. 

No. 50— FRA.NK AM) JESSE JAMES IN MEXICO, by W. B. Lawsou 
No. 49-THE YOUNOER BROTHER’S VOW, l)y Jack Sharp. 

No. 48— THE OCEAN DETECTIVE, by Richard J. Storms. 

No. 47— THE BLACK RIDERS OF SANTOS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 46— GOTHAM BY GASLIGHT, by Dan McGinty. 

No. 45-MOUNTAIN TOM, by Ned Buntliue. 

No. 44— PIGTAIL DE.MONS, by Harrv Temple. 

No. 43- RED RUBE BURROWS, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 42-THE HATFIELD McCOY VENDETTA, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 41-TnE STONY POINT TRAGEDY, by A. L. Fogg. 

No. 40-THE GREAT RIVER MYSTERY, by Bartley Campbeli. 

No. 39-BARNACLE BACKSTAY, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 38-ALF, THE CHICAGO SPO^T, by Edward Minturn. 

No. 37-CY, THE RANGER, by Joseph E. Badger, Jr. 

No. 36-HIS HIGHEST STAKE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 35— BOB SINGLETON, by David Lowry. 

No. 34-KKNTUCKY KATE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 33— THE ROAD AGENTS, by Leander P. Richardson. 

No. 32-KAMON ARANDA, THE CALIFORNIA DETECTIVE, by Eugene T 
Sawyer. 

No. 31-THE HUMAN VAMPIRE, by K. F. HilL 

No. 30— SHADOWED AND TRAPPED; or, Harry the Sport, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 29-THE LIGHTS O’ GOTHAM, by Rali)h Royal. 

No. 28-THE GREAT YACHT RACE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 27— JACK, THE PEEPER, by Harry Temple. 

No. 26-HUGO, THE FIGHTER, by William IT. Bushnell. 

No. 25-DARROW. THE FLOATING DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntline. 

No. 24-THE SHANGHAIER OF GREENWICH STREET, by Henry Deering. 

No. 23-PHENOMENAL PAUL, THE WIZARD PITCHER OF THE LEAGUE, by 
.John WardP7i. 

No. 22-OLD MAN HOWE, by Wm. O. Stoddard. 

No. 21— CATTLE KATE, by Lieutenant Carlton. 

No. 20 GIUSEPPE, THE WEASEL, bv Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 19-LOUISVILLK LUKE, THE JOCKEY WONDER, by Jack Howard. 

No. 18-THE OYSTER PIRATES, bv Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 17-SILVER MASK, bv Delta Calaveras. 

No. 16-THE .lOHNSTOWN HERO, bv Marline Manly. 

No. 15 THE GREAT CRONIN MYSTERY, by JMark Merrick, Esq. 

No. 14-DIAMOND DICK IN ARIZONA, by Delta Calaveras. 

No. 13-HA RRY LOVELL, THE GENTLEMAN RIDER, by Sherwood Stanley. 
No. 12-THE MINER DETECTIVE, by Ned Buntliue. 

No. 11— THE OKLAHOMA DETECTIVE, by Old Broadbrim. 

No. 10-THE GOLD-HUNTER DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 9-THK IRISH JUDAS; or. The Grc.at Conspiracy Against Parnell, by 
Clarence Claucool. 

No. 8-BILL TREDEGAR, A Tale of the Moonshiners, by Ned Buntliue. 

No. 7— THE PINERY' DEN DETECTIVE, bv Mark Merrick. Esq. 

No. 6-CAPTAIN KATE, by Leander P. Richardson. 

No. 6-THE WHITE CAP DETECTIVE, by Marline Manly. 

No. 4-JESSE, THE OUTLAW, A Story of the James Boys, by Captain Jake 
Sluickhd'oT'd. 

No. 3-SEVEN PICKED MEN. by Judsou R. Taylor 

No. 2— THE KEWANEE BANK ROBBERY, by J. P^ Musick. 

No. 1— THE WHITE CAPS, by Marline Manly, 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post- 
paid, on receipt of price, 10 cents each, by 

Street & Smith, Publishers, 

P. O. BOX 2734. 26-31 ROSE STREET, NEW YORK 


The Nugget Library. 


ISSUED EVERY THURSDAY. PRICE, 5 CENTS EACH. 


No. 30— McGINTY’S DOUBLE, Cornelius Shea. 

No. 29— SMART ALECK ’WAY DOWN EAST, by Frank. 

No. 28-McGINTY’S CHRISTENING, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 27— McGINTY’S BOARDING-HOUSE, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 26— HIS ROYAL NIBS, by John F. Cowan. 

No. 25— SMART ALECK IN BOSTON, by Frank. 

No. 24— BILLY MAYNE, THE SHARPER, by Walter Fenton. 

No. 23-McGINTY’S TWINS, by Cornelius Sbea. 

No. 22-PHIL AND HIS TORPEDO BOAT, by Harry St. George. 

No. 21-McGINTY’S GAMBOLS, by Cornelius Shea. 

No. 20-THE MYSTERY AT RAHWAY, by Chester F. Baird. 

No. 19-STANLEY’S BOY COURIER, by The Old Showman- 
No. 18-DlAMOND DICK’S CLAIM, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 17-DIAMOND DICK’S DEATH TRAIL, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 16-D ASHING DIAMOND DICK, by W. B. Lawson. 

No. 15-SMAKT ALECK ON HIS TRAVELS, by Frank. 

No. 14-SMART ALECK’S SUCCESS, by Frank. 

No. 13-THE SEARCH FOR CAPTAIN KIDD, by Col Juan Lewis. 

No. 12-MECHINET, THE FRENCH DETECTIYE, by Francis A. Durivage. 

No. 11— BOSS OF LONG HORN CAMP; or, A Fortune for a Ransom, by A. C. 
Mouson. 

No. 10— BASE-BALL BOB ; or. The King of the Third Base, by Edward T. 
Taggard (Paul Pryor). 

No. 9-YOUNO SANTEE, THE BOOTBLACK PRINCE ; or. The Boy Wizard of 
the Bonery, by Kaymond Clyde. 

No. 8— NED H.IMILTON ; or, Tlie Boys of Bassington School, byFletcher Cowan. 
No. 7— THE CRIMSON TRAIL ; or. On Custer’s Last War-P.ath, by Buftalo Bill. 

No. 6— THE FLOATING ACADEMY ; or. The Terrible Secrets of Doctor Switchein’s 
School-Shii), by Lash Dale. 

No. 6-NIMBLE NIP, THE CALL-BOY OF THE OLYMPIC THEATER, by John 
A. Mack. 

No. 4— THE GAYEST BOY IN NEW YORK; or, Adyentures by Gaslight, by 

Dash Kingston. 

No. 3— BOUNCER BROWN ; or, He Was Bound to Find His Father, by Com- 
modore Ah-Look. 

No. 2— UNDER THE GULF ; or, The Strange Voyage of the Torpedo Boat, by 

Harry St. George. 

No. 1— SMART ALECK ; or, A Crank’s Legacy, by Frank. 


For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post, 
paid, on receipt of price, 3 cents cacll, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

P, 0. Box 2734* 25-31 Rose Street, New York* 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 2a 


JPrice, 25 Oents, 


Some Oyoinions of tlie Press* 

•* As the probabilities are remote of the play * The Old IT^'mesredd ’ being 
tfcen anywhere but in large cities It is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories written from plays It contains a great deal wiiicb 
Is not said or done on the boards, yet It Is no more verbose than such a story 
should be and It gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tildy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be hooed tnat the book will make 
a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— A. F. Herald, June 2d. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ Is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerat d home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and Jealousy, without an Impure tiiought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields in every chapter. It Is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ‘The 
Old Homestead.’ A. F. Press, May 26th. 

“Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New Yorlc Weekly, have brought 
out in book-form the story of ‘ The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with such wondrous success. It will proba- 
bly have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers in giving the 
drama this permanent fiction form.”~A''. F. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“The popularity of Denman Tliompson’s play of ■ The Old Homestead' has 
encouraged street & Stnlth, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set In the satne scenes and including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book Is a fair match for the play In the simple good taste 
and real ability with which It Is written. Tlie publishers are Street & Smltli, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A'. F. Grapldc, May 29. 

“Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep 
Utatlon, to every pfay-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and Its simple 
patlios have been admirably preserved In this story, which is founded upon it 
and follows Its Incidents closely. The requirements of the stag make the action 
a little hurried at times, but tlie scenes described are brouglit before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life in the little New Eng- 
land town Is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent idea of what It is like from the book. Botli are free from sentimentally^' 
aad sensation, and are remarkably healthy in tonQ."— Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead' has been put Into story-form ana is is- 
sued by Street & Smith. Tlie story will somewhat explain to tliose who have not 
seen It the great popularity of the play.”— .firoofclyn- Times, June 8th. 

“The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ Is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed It, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took In Its representation. This is the story told In narrative form as well 
as It was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they ha “9 seen the 
play or noV'— National Tribune, Washington, D, C. 

“Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, lias packed the largest theater in New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of Its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All the Incidents wlilch have held audiences spell bound are here re- 
corded— tlie accusation of robbery directed against tlie innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt 'I'llda. who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the courage to propose j 
the fall of the country boy into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good Oldman who braves the metropolis to And lilm. The story embodies all 
that the play tells, and all that It suggests as well.”— ifawsos CiW Journai, 
MiAytTth. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 


By NEIL BURGESS. 


Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

<^THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
^ you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same unique 
characters, the same graphic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Bead the following 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS; 

Mr. Neil Burge.<?8 has re^vritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going' the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this hvelj" conception of a live di’amatist.— 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time the general 
public out of town may be glad to learn that the playmight has put the piece into print 
In the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful.— A’. F. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest hook of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and Chicago Daily Neics. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received irith such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It wUl 
be enjoyed even by those who have never heal’d the i>lay and still more by those who 
h&ye.— Cincinnati l%mes-Star. 


This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— A ifcan?/ Pms. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic hfe, joy and 
sorrow, and rural scenes.— San Francisco Call. 

This romance is ■written from the play of this name and is fuU of touching incidents. 
— Evansville Journal 


It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— A’aK 
River Herald. 


Tlxo Ooixia.'ty is No. 33 of “The Select Series,” for 

sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any 
address, postpaid, by STREET k SMITR, Publishers, 25-31 Rose st,, New York. 


BERTHA M. CLAY’S 

Xji^a7:E:sa? 

Copyright Novels, 

i:isr 

The Select Series. 

35 Oexxts lE^etcli. 


FULLY ILLUSTKATED. 


No. 23.-A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

No. 28.-A HEART’S IDOL. 

No. 36.-THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER. 
No. 37.-IN LOVES CRUCIBLE. 

No. 39.-MARJORIE DEANE. 

TLese novels are among tire Lest ever -writ- 
ten by BERTHA M. CLAY, and are enjoying 
an enormons sale. They are oopyriglrted and 
can be had only in THE SELECT SERIES. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. O. Box 2734. _ _ 31 Rose Street, New York. 


Mrs. Georgie Sheldon’s 

IjjgLTEST 

Copyright Novels, 

iisr 

The Select Series. 


rrioo, ao Ooixtjs DESciolx. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 16-SIBYL’S INFLUENCE. 

No. 24-THAT DOWDY. 

No. 43-TRIXY. 

No. 44-A TRUE ARISTOCRAT. 

These novels, from the pen of our gifted an 
thor, who writes exclusively for us, are among 
her most popular productions, and hold the front 
rank in first-class literature. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt of 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

P. O. Box 2734. 31 Bose Street, New York. 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OF 

fOPTJLAE AMEEIOAN OOPTEIGHT STOEIES, 

BY POPULAR AUTHORS. 


lu Ha n d s ome I*aper Covers, S5 Ceuta, 


3sro. 1. 

A STORY OF POWER AND PATHOS. 


THE SENATOR’S BRIDE. 

By Mrs. ALEX. MoVEIGH MILLER, 

Author of “Brunette and Blonde,” “Lady Gay’s Pride,” etc. 


This is a domestic story of deep interest, charmingly writtfldfi* 
with vigor and earnestness, and has not a dull scene in it. The 
author’s purpose is to portray nature ; she therefore avoids all 
extravagance, and relies entirely upon her ability to entertain 
her readers with the presentation of scenes and incidents that 
never surpass probability, yet are extremely captivating. 

The story of “The Senator’s Bride” is something more than 
a work of fiction. It contains a moral that is certain to be im- 
pressed upon all who follow the career of the wife who wrecked 
her happiness because slie respected herself too much to deceive 
her husband. 


PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. 

Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 

e ostage free, to any address, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
shers, 

STREET <Sc SlvlilTH:, 

P, O' Box 2734. 31 Rose St., New York. 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OF 

POPULAE AMEEIOAN OOPTEIGHT STOEIES, 

BY POPULAB AUTHOEa 


In Handsome !E*aper Covers, S5 Cents. 

STo. Q. 

Entranoing Love Story. 


VELLA VERNELL; 

OR, 

AN AMAZING MARRIAGE. 


By Mrs. SUMNER HAYDEN, 

Author of “Little Goldie,” etc. 


In originality of conception, and artistic skill in the construc- 
tion and development of plot, the story of “Vella Vernell’’ will 
compare favorably with the most meritorious works of fiction. 
The language is graceful and forcible ; the style is earnest and 
captivating ; the incidents are novel and dramatic — a series of 
imimated pictures, so very life-like that the reader becomes 
Impressed with their reality ; the characters are capitally drawn, 
and speak and act like sentient beings ; while the plot is fresh 
and ingenious, and evolved with the tact of u master-hand. 


PRICE, TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. 


Issued in clean, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers ; or sent, 
postage freCy to any address, on receipt of price, by the pub- 
lishers, 

STPLEET ac 

P- 0- Box 2734. 31 Rose St., New York, 


STREET & SMITH’S SELECT SERIES 

OP 

POPULAE AMEEIOAN OOPTEiaHT STOEIES, 

BT POPULAR AUTHORS. 


In Sandsome Paper Ooverst CentSm 


k BRILLIANT AND ANIMATED ROMANCE. 

THE WIDOW’S WAGER. 

A Tale of Northern Hearts and Southern Homes. 

By EOSE ASHLEIQH, 

Author of “The Condemned Wife,” “Figrhting Her Way,” etc. 


The incidents of this masterful story are vivid, thrilling, 
and dramatic. The quiet scenes are depicted with the 
grace, ease and elegance of Bulwer’s classic style, w^hile tho 
more spirited and exciting tableaux are presented with the 
force, vigor and intensity of description which characterize 
Wilkie Collins’ most effective passages. 

PRICE, TWENTY-nVE CENTS. 

Issued in clear, large type, with handsome lithographed 
cover, and for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers; or 
sent, postage free, to any address, on receipt of price, by 
the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

31 Rose St., New York. 


P. 0. Box 2734. 


The Select Series 


A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION 

DEVOTED TO BOOD EEADIEB 0 AMEBICAS FICTIOE. 


PRICE 25 CENTS EACH. FULU lUCSTRATEC. 


No. 37-IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Beitlia M. Clay. 

No. 36-THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 35-CECILE’S MARRIAGE, by Lucy RaiidaU Comfort, 

No, 3I-THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edu aids. 

No. 33-THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Bur^-ess. 

No. 32-LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma Garrison Jones. 
No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke CoUius. 

No. 30- PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards. 

No. 29-THE HEIRESS OFEGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 27 -WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

No. 26— FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage. 

No. 25-THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvaiius Cobb, Jr. 

No. 24-THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 23-DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

No. 22-A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertlia M. Clay. 

No. 21-THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta. 

No. 20-INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner. 

No. 19-A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 
No. 18 — ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McA'^eig’h Miller. 

No. 17-THE HOUSE OF SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 16— SIBYL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 15 — THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by May Agnes Fleming, 

No. 14 — FLORENCE FALKLxiND, by Burke Brentford, 

No. 13 -THE BRIDE ELECT, by Annie Aslimore. 

No. 12-THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 11— BADLY MATCHED, by Helen Corwin Pierce. 


The above works are for sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to 
address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 


any 


STREET & SMITH, 


31 Bose Street, New York, 


P. 0. Box 2734. 


W OMEN’S SECRETS 


The public are at last permitted to take a peep into the 
wonderful and mysterious art of 

‘‘HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.” 

We will soon become a nation of Beauty. Bead how, in the table of 

iCONTlSlN'TS: 

THE VALUE OF PERSONAL BEAUTY.— Tliis chapter relates to the beauty 
in “Genius,” “Strength,” “Religion,” “Poetry,” ana “Chivalry.” 

THE HISTORY OP BEAUTY, — Mode of acquiring it by the people of different 
nations. What people are tlie most beautiful? 

VARIOUS STANDARDS OF BEAUTY.— Tastes of civilized and uncivilized 
people. The French definition of beauty. 

THE BEST STANDARD OF BEAUTY.— Defines the Head, Hail', Eyes, Cheeks, 
Ears, Nose, Mouth, Bosom, Limbs, and in fact every part of the liumau form. 

HOW TO RAISE BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN. — To newly married people, and 
those who contemplate entering the conjugal state, this chapter alone is 
well worth the price of the book. 

HOW TO BE BEAUTIFUL.— This cliapter is full of information, as it not only 
tells how to beautify every part of the form and.features, but gives recipes 
and cures for all the ailments whicli tend to mar or blemish. 

BEAUTY SLEEP.— To be beautiful it is not necessary to be like the bird that 
seeks its nest at sunset and goes forth again at sunrise. You will here find 
the required time to be spent in bed, the positions most conducive to health, 
facts regarding ventilation, bed-clothes, adornments, and other useful hints. 

BEAUTY FOOD,— Instructs how, when, and wliere to eat, and also treats of 
Digestion, Complexion, Foods which color the skin, etc. 

HOW TO BE FAT.— The information imparted in this chapter will be aVjouto 
thin, delicate women, as it tells what to eat and what to avoid, also what to 
drink and how to dress when nlumpnessis desirable. 

HOW TO BE LEAN.— If corpulent women will carefully follow the instructions 
herein, they will be happy and enjoy life. 

BEAUTY BATHING AND EXERCISE.— This chapter is intended for every 
one to read and profit by. There is no truer saying than “Cleanliness is next 
to Godliness.” 

EFFECTS OF MENTAL EMOTIONS ON BEAUTY.-After you read this, we 
feel safe in saying tliat you will not give way to anger, surprise, fright, grief, 
vexation, etc., but will [at all times strive to be cheerful and make the best 
of life, 

HOW BEAUTY IS DESTROYED.— The women are warned in this chapter 
against [quack doctors and their nostrums, the dangers of overdosing, and 
irregular habits. 

HOW TO REMAIN BEAUTIFUL.— It is just as easy for those that are beauti- 
ful to remain so as to allow themselves to fade away like a fiower which 
only blooms for a season. 

HOW TO ACQUIRE GRACE AND STYLE.— Without grace and style beauty 
is lost. Tliey are as essential as a beautiful face. To walk ungracefully or 
awkwardly is not only vulgar but detrimental to the health. 

THE LANGUAGE OF BEAUTY.— This chapter will enable you to read a per- 
son and learn his or her character, without the use of a phrenological chart* 

CORSETS,— When and what kind should be worn. How they were originated 
and by whom. 

CYCLING.— The latest craze for ladies is fully described in this chapter. 


lOlIEfl’S SECRETS; of, How to k BeaiitltiiL 

THE BEST SELLING BOOK OF THE DAY. 


Just Out. !E*rice 25 Cents. 

IFor Hale by all Newsdealers. 


STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 nLose street* 




An Entrancing Emotional Story, 


By BERTHA M. OLAY. 

No. I Of the Primrose Edition of Copyright Noveis. 

Olotlx. rx*ioo, $1- 


SOME OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. 

Messrs. Street & Smith, New York, hegiii a new series of novels — “The 
Primrose Library”— with “Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. The 
story has enough plot to keep one fi’om falling asleep over it, and it also in- 
dicates the stumbling-blocks and pitfalls %hich abound everywhere for 
young husbands and wives who think so much about having “a good time” 
that they have no time left in which to think about reputation and 
character. — N. P. Herald, Sept. 10. 

Street & Smith publish the American copyright novel, “Another Man’s 
Wife.” by Bei'tha M. Clay. It deals with certain corrupting influences of 
fashionable society, and impressively warns of the dangers that spring 
from them.’ Its plot is strong and dramatic, and is elaborated with all of 
the qualities of style that have made the author so popular. It is the first 
issue of the new Primrose Series. — Boston Globe, Sept. 16. 

“Another Man’s Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay, Street & Smith’s Primrose 
Sei’ies, is a laudable eftbrt toward the repression of the growing evil of 
matrimonial disloyalty. The book is handsomely bound, with a holiday 
look about it.— Brooklyn Eagle, Sept. 15. 

Street <fe Smith of New York publish in cloth cover “Another Man’s 
Wife,” by Bertha M. Clay. The story is effective. It impressively depicts 
the results certain to attend the sins of deception. It teaches a lesson that 
will not be lost upon those thoughtless men and women wdio, only intent 
upon pleasure, little dream of the pitfall-before them, and to which they are 
blind until exiiosure wrecks happiness. — Troy (N. T.) Press. 

Street & Smith, New Y’'ork, have brought out in book-form “Another 
Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most efiective stories.— 
Cincinnati Enqxiirer. 

“Another Man’s Wife.” This is one of Bertha M. Clay’s most effective 
stories. It forcibly and impressibly portrays the evils certain to attend 
matrimonial deceit, clandestine interviews, and all the tricks and devices 
which imperil a wife’s honor. It has a novel and entrancingly interesting 
plot, and abounds in vivid and dramatic incidents. It is the first issue of 
Street * Smith’s Primrose Edition of Copyright Novels, and -will not appear 
elsewhere.— Alj’anfc/wi Freem an. 



CINCINNATI, HAMILTON 8cDAYT0NR.R 


THE FINEST ON EARTH 


THE ONLY 

Pullman Perfected Safety 


WITH DINING- CAR 


BETWEEN 

cmcmMTi, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

AND CHICAGO. 


THE FAVORITE LINE 

CIIICIIDIATItoST.LOUIS, 

Heokuk, Springfield, 

and Eeoria, 


THE ONLY DIRECT LINE 

BETWEEN 

Cincinnati, Dayton, Findlay, 

Lima, Toledo, Detroit, 

THE LAKE REGIONS and CANADA. 


PULLMAN SLEEPERS ON NIGHT TRAINS. 

Parlor and Chair Cars on Day Trains between Cincinnati and 
Points Enumerated, the Year Round. 


M. D. WOODFORD, Vice-Pres. E. 0, McCORlCK, Gen. Pass. AgL 




titled AMERICAiNS 


A LIST OF 
















WHO HAVE 

Married Foreigners of Hai^k 

ILLUSTRATED WITH ARMORIAL BEARIAHS. 


SSTREKT Sc HIMITH’SS 

HAND-BOOK LIBRARY— NO. 3. 


I*r*ico SO Oexxts. 


Some Opinions of the press: 

The title pag**? of this vohinie is not siifhcieiitly long, for besides all it promises it 
neglects to anuoumv, that there is also a list of available noblemen who have have not 
yet entered the state of mati’imony, and to wliom, presumably, American beauty backed 
by American gold may successfully api>eal.~A’- V. Herald^ March 16. 

The book is remarkably complete and is valuable as a reference, in addition to be- 
ing decidedly interesting.— A'. Y. World, March Vi. 

The book gives all the attainable facts and tigures concerning ri(*h American girls 
Avho have married foreignei\s of more or less distinction.— A. V. Sun, March 14. 

In fact “ Titled Ameiicans” is a book that should be in the hands of each unmarried 
female in this country, and from it she should learn the glorious destiny that she may 
Sichwvo.— Manse $/^s Weekly. 

It furnishes a great deal of information, which will be valuable for reference, con- 
cerning American ladies who have marrit^d titled foreigners.— Saturdai/ JiJvenina 
Gazette. 

Of course Amencan “gentlemen” cannot “come in” when such a book is produced. 
They will have to wait until some century when women rule Europe and carry all the 
purchasable titles in their own Brooklyn Daily Eayle. 

Embraced in this carefully compiled book, which is vastly entertaining in its way, 
are ix-rsonal sketches of all the bachelor peel's of Britain. We take it that the moral of 
the work for our American maidens is, “ Go thou and do likewise,” and that its mission 
is to show them where and Vow —Boston Times. 

Here is a volume for which young American women will be truly gi'ateful. It con- 
tains the names of two hundred and five Amerioan girls who have married foreignei's. 
This is of course very exciting n ading, and will probably keen many girls awake at 
night, planning to go and do W^e.wi^o.—rittshuroh Bulle in, iMarch 15. 

“Titled Americans” is a valuable and uni(iue work of considerable labor and ex- 
x>ense, and something every pei'son in society will be interested in.— A. i' Eveniny 
Teleoratn, March 13. 

Street k Smith have issued a rather unique book, but one that, in these dnyn when 
titled foreit-uiers are gobbling up and carrying off so many American belles and rich 
girls, will not be w itliout use for refvrvnco.— Detroit Trihune. 

The only book of the kind ever published. This is an interesting and unique work 
of considtiriible labor and expense, and soni<4hing many soi'iety people will be interested 
in as it gives a complete record to date, of all American ladies who have married titled 
foreigners, illustrated with their armorial bearings. Young ladies traveling abroad 
should not fail to secure a copy as it will be of gi'eat assistance in regulatingtheir heart 
strings.— AV/nrm Telegram. 

If anything were needed to crystallize the craze of some American women for titled 
husbaTids it has been provided in this veritable hand-book for marriageable maidens 
and ambitious widows. It will doubtless be hidden away in some seend corner of the 
boudoir or carried off in the traveling trunk across the ocean, to be consulted, 
cherished and studied : while the names of more than two hundred American wonu^n 
who have successfully hunted down the titled game will arouse the envy ami hash*!! the 
palpitation of many a husband-hunting aspirant to wedded privileges.— A. Saturday 
Revietc, March 8. 




V .V: > 





' J* . ^ *• 

- > ' >,1 , 

’*■ ■ ■ ^/“ j ^'' ■ 

rr*** * • - "■ ^ j 




■* < 


ti 



■ tV 


\ • 


>4 ‘ ,<• - 







' ■ J9V, 


.■i 






« 4 




• r '' 1 ^ 


■it 


',*y 


s.’ •» J 


' ^ 
■m-': 

i#. 


]} , 6 «**\ .V • •*. * 

•'*)>. V' ' 


^35 


■■ j ' 


: ^ 


• • 


,V 




<v. 


■ 'I C * *•,'•1 



tr* 

>r 


- •..<>- 


M •• 


r«M. 


4 • ‘W 3‘ i 




V • 

.ill » . ^ • 











r ./ 








*' ' • f * \ *] 

. < 1 . . V ; < ' ^ \ 


.1 


j '‘^c? 

.■- -v:.* .:.' ,.^:» ■ Ku-J 

■ ' fc‘* y «l *. 

* -i r , t ^ * ■' 

M • '• :m 


.' • • .• 


- ; : ■ m 



‘K 


• >. 




-t 


:<i 





« < 






I IT k •; 




1^*1 


. 4 




•-♦ .V 


.■Mr 


.’ ■ ' '«*• • 


/r < 


• ..* 


• T. VI' s; rCv.-! r '. • ■ 




'M':: 




: f 


*1 




A 


i » 


- » .- ■ 


uB-y- ■ ' ■: * 

■SK •-_.. . ■ * ■ ■^*yMrV\ -> .• 




■v-. ■ 




>1 t - * 


■&?vn 


■y. . ^ '■ 

".•>V ' ■• ■ ■ V- 

'v .■^: - M'. v. •' .,• .. 


\ • 


V I 


I ' 


A ■ 


• < 


4 ‘ •: 



• • 


■'i ^.‘ f ') ^'fX^'''.^\'" ’'' 


/» 


J" 





. -i' . . /: ^ 

■i - ’ • 




\ . 


• . 


•■.»*« ' J 






■y»" 








•./wBlly. 





<f 







v> 




#• 



. A V-, r -I-./ J ^. ■ > 


- ■ '•y'A:''^ •• 


'•. . <1 


v;-: . 



''4: 

■ ife 


.♦-i- 




^ ‘ '.V 




• - ■ \v 4 •. 


/ 


A''.^.vV ou4' ‘ ■, '' vv.s •; 

^SySm- ■ *' ^ 













A . V ^ 
Vf i; 'i * 






% ' 


’ y 

' / , 


ft' 



..V '?'••' 



f » 


1 , 


.1 






/•V 




r. 


-,*/’• 

. .w^ . 

r ,. * . i- -^;v 

• • f ‘ ,4 ' I ' 

'■ Jv"' 


- < ' 


.\ ‘ 



4r 




i :• V 


I - 


: -i t' * 


■ • 


;v 


pS ^ ■ 


1 *».A 


4 I 


f- V 


1 


• v>;> ' 

‘•*^- ■ VRpr^ 

• , -rvrv* 


■•4 1- » . '. >» 

' '. li\' • 

I W.'.U 


•* • 


> 






A 


' 4 


« ' 





4 ^ 


\** 


», 


> » 




« • 


- 

' ?. . 






>r ; 


►. f 


l.i». !t ' 


•A ». 


1 \ •• 


1 .' ' 1.1?. i ' • -,. r . , 1 \ •... 

■■ • :•■ ■■■ 

. .^ "■ MV";: ^ ' :*' . ‘ . 







t ' 


T 1 


‘ , .» •; H t V ' 

'"• - . /' ■’ , J 

•id I . • . ••• 

' ►'•i' .'• -f. ' . ■> •. 

». ,’. 1 yi*' ' • 




M • 



... V 


T ‘ ‘...A 


-4 i’' \ ' ‘ 

/ • . 


, ^ 



. y i *'■ •'. 

•> • ^ / 

: r* ^y. *•- 

'*_•.*. , • t* 4 


•'i. 





• ' « 


• i > 


‘ L vV.' 


^ « 


•4 { I 


'A 


I ft 


• »> 


' S I 

\ii ,, . 


» 

« «* 


'.A',-: 

m:,^ 





' » 


*s 


I • 




ij- 


* 

.4 


T»* ^ f . • .> 




» 

• ( 

\ ' '•■ ■■ ' 


• 








C; ■ . Jii 


. I 






w^i’r 




. '. : ' 


('A'., .’ 


|ik4'..>l- ; , J ’ V- {>. ' ', 

V <" >,t'V V 




• . V 






4’' 


1 » 






• . 1. ! I 


i . 



• A.-'T - •■ > 


**.* .' ' ** li'lf* if. 








^:v 






< ,1' 


/.f 7 ;;;. 

% . ' ' • 


KRT u ■, , . • 
' * » > ■ 



^ ■/ %■ T' ■ i.-. : -f - ^ 

■ '■ :.<■ .' /.-•* ... r-' ■■■ ■■ ' ,'• ■/'■.',■• !irV.' .^^ • ■ ■•' ■/••">■ 


^ 1 * 




• 


ss 





• 






• 4 


*».* 
V . ' 


^’‘ A <'^ ' 


- mm • A* • ' it ** 

NBHiBGSSEK 'N.*', 




. • .’ 


.• > # 
* • V 

II 


>■ \ 


J 

"4- 


i^. 


} 




.1 i': 

I ' ' » 


*1 


I 

' . 


V. 




V /, 


^ #• 


‘ « 


/ 


■ ^ y‘> 








-f 


■ r‘ ' V'‘j ' -‘ .. O * M 

j* V 4 (X ''* 

ijw>/ ' • * » . 

. ' ‘ ^ -^1. 

• ;. .'• • ^ • 

T»’ -• . ■. . 


A 

i 


■■ ‘^'V; 




. • 






1 • 


r' ■ ■•. 


• , • 


» ‘v 

« 


A* 

•y 


I 


: H 

C^ * 


W 


/*’ ^'• 


\/m 


I . - \ V- - 

>. . f 




•\. 




♦ » 

• •; \ 




» «1 'A 


.*»•.. I •• ‘ . ; f..-'. 

A ■ J' ■ 

V V * '• 

■ . • • ' ■ 


j, t’SIHiES ■■ ■■’■;&’ 


-'>-3 

• . '■ ..-A 


‘ ivi.lL- 


A} 


. ». 

.‘.V 


I ■ •;- 




di ■ '•■'..■■ ' • 


^k''?vT 





LIBRARY OF 


CONGRESS 



nnos2a‘^ab'=^3 



